Monster
by Need2Scream
Summary: "There are very few people who are going to look into the mirror and say, "That person I see is a savage monster," instead, they make up some construction that justifies what they do." -Naom Chomsky/ Jazz-centric, sparkling Bluestreak. DeathFic
1. Chapter 1

Jazz waltzed aboard the Autobot flagship, the _Ark_ , like he belonged there. The toothy smile on his face wasn't feigned in the least. He was almost too giddy. He needed to tone it down a notch or everyone on the ship would think he was glitched. But they'd be on the ship. And he'd be with them. The grin slapped itself back on his face. He'd done the impossible. He was on _the_ Autobot ship. He ran his hand over the wall to make sure it was real.

Megatron was going to be so happy.

He still had a few kels before he'd risk any kind of transmission to anything close to Decepticon space, but still, when the news came through Megatron was going to fragging glow. Ahead of him the hall opened into a spoked hub.

He walked to the center and stopped. The halls were lit with different soft glowing colors but not even Soundwave or his symbionts had ever boarded the _Ark_. As much fun as it would be to wander the halls making notes of points of entry or structural weaknesses he had to get formally registered. Then the real fun would begin.

"Are you lost?" a soft voice asked behind him. He turned around and jumped almost straight back to Decepticon space. A tiny red and white mech, no more than a youngling looked up at him with bright blue optics. Tiny red cephalic fins flared on his head like feathers and he cocked his head to the side staring at Jazz with interest. The fin flare seemed a little hostile, but his guileless expression didn't match his body language.

"Me?" Jazz said a little breathlessly. "Primus, I think you're the one who's lost, where's your creator or sire, lil' mech? This is a warship." The mechling ducked his head shyly and his fins flattened. He shook his head and those flashing blue optics looked up at Jazz once more. His fins started to rise again. Interest, then. Like the quick up and down flap of an Ahnkmorian's fins.

From a hallway marked with soft green lights an adult Kalisian emerged scribbling on a datpad. "First Aid where did—ah, there you are." He looked up at Jazz with an open friendly smile, his fins pulsing soft white. "Hello, new?" Jazz didn't see weapon anywhere on him and his teal green and white armor was about as light as it got in a warzone. Non-combatant Kalisian with green and white armor hidden safe aboard the _Ark_? Wheeljack. The only—living—mech that could match Shockwave; a genius in theoretical physics he was the reason ships could jump space instead of chugging through the void. Putting a round in him alone would cement Jazz's legendary status among the Decepticons. They would make him a demi-god.

"Uh…yes," Jazz said before the moment could stretch too long. "You…you're Wheeljack, right?"

His fins flashed and he nodded, scooping up the youngling and holding him on his hip. "Wheeljack, Jackie, Jack, Half-Glitched-Pain-In-The-Aft; although Ratchet's the only one who uses that last one." The youngling giggled and snuggled close to him. "Anyway, you're probably looking for Prowl, he's the one who gets all the transfers settled. We can go by his office, if he's not there he'll be in the dispensary." He started walking still with the youngling in his arms.

"You're, uh, taking the youngling?" Jazz said having to jog a couple steps to keep up with the lanky genius.

"Hm? Oh, First Aid? Of course. Sorry, I forgot to make introductions. This is First Aid," Wheeljack said tickling the back of First Aid's neck until he squealed. His little red fins shot straight up and Wheeljack laughed, his fins pulsing bright blue.

Jazz introduced himself only vaguely aware of what he said. "So is he…yours?" he asked. He couldn't believe for even a half second Autobots were training younglings on their warships. It was genius if you didn't take into account how much care young mechs and femmes took. And if it wasn't that but the result of too much high grade he was going to reevaluate how fragging smart Autobots were. He wasn't above a good frag, but Primus, how could they not be taking precautions and how could they let any mistakes come to term?

Wheeljack looked down at the youngling with a fond smile. "When he's behaving," he said with a laugh. "When he starts getting into trouble he's Ratchet's."

"You actually…you have a youngling on a warship," Jazz said with wide optics.

Wheeljack rested his head against First Aid's for a moment and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Happenstance? No, that sounds too upbeat. It was…it's complicated," he said softly with less humor. "First Aid is one of the survivors from Centari Alpha." Jazz didn't miss his arms tightening around the mechling. He couldn't blame him for it. Centari Alpha was a ghost story that would last generations. The distant colony had gone wrong in a horrific way and not everyone was convinced it was bad luck. As a master of sabotage, Jazz was inclined to believe what befell Centari Alpha had been caused. What no one could figure out was, Why?

"He was so sick with radiation poisoning and everything else that we were the only ship with the medics and equipment to care for him," Wheeljack was saying. "And by the time he was healthy again we didn't want to let him go." First Aid clicked and snuggled against Wheeljack with a soft happy sound. Wheeljack's long fingers stroked the youngling's back until the little mech's bright optics began to droop and close more frequently.

"You're not, uh, _worried_?" Jazz said looking around the warship they were on. Nothing was impenetrable; Jazz was living fragging proof of that. And younglings were so very fragile. Pit, even juveniles were fragile. Younglings were…he looked at Wheeljack holding the youngling. He was so little compared to the tall Kalisian. A misplaced step could cause untold damage to his little frame.

"Well of course we worry," Wheeljack said softly. "But with Decepticons going after more and more soft targets the risks are about the same. If the colonies were still safe or mostly off limits like they used to be the situation would be different, but, so far this kel three Autobot colonies and a neutral have been attacked and raided. We still don't know how many were lost." A humorless smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "It's to the point now where it might be more practical to put civilians on warships and soldiers in the colonies."

He stopped in front of a plain door that looked like all the others down the hall and knocked. Across the lock screen an out of office message scrolled. "Thought so, dispensary it is, come on. That's where this little mech wants to be anyway." First Aid perked up when they turned down another hall that had soft blue lights at even intervals.

"What's with the colors?" he asked to get away from the subject of the youngling. He'd never been on an Autobot ship that used colors.

"For me? So I know where I am. Prowl and Red Alert have a more tactical and defensive reason for it but fragged if I know." Wheeljack said. "Dispensary and rec room are down the blue hall. Med bay is down the green hall. Sparring room down the orange, and firing range down the purple."

Like a small bullet, a tiny black blur blew out of a hallway and almost blindsided Wheeljack. "Jack, catch him!" a breathless voice called. Wheeljack reached down and scooped up the little comet before it could take off again. Naked as the day he was sparked a youngling younger than First Aid twittered and whistled indignantly.

"There's _more_?" Jazz yelped jumping back a step. From the same hallway the youngling had appeared an older dark green mech came jogging up with a younger, though old enough to be enlisted, black mech laughing behind him.

Wheeljack handed the squirming bundle over to the dark green mech. "Just one, thank Primus," the green mech said. "Don't think this ship could handle two of 'em." The youngling tried to get loose again with another angry whir and chirp.

"The naked one is Bumblebee," Wheeljack said. "He hates bath time," he said in a fake whisper. First Aid laughed and squirmed to be put down, he stayed by Wheeljack's side though and held two of the Kalisian's narrow fingers in his small hand.

"I'm too old for bath time," the green mech said. "Hound, by the way. Lead scout and official youngling wrangler."

"Best in the business," Wheeljack said fins glowing bright blue. "How'd he get out this time?" he asked with no shortage of curiosity.

Hound pointed a thumb over his shoulder. The tall black mech ducked his head. "I didn't know. I opened the door and _whoosh_ , gone." Bumblebee chirped at him and the tall mech grinned. "I think Sideswipe has been watching them too much, he's gettin' faster." First Aid tugged on Wheeljack's hand and looked up at him with sad blue optics.

"Okay, good luck Hound, I need to get First Aid to the dispensary before he tells Ratchet I'm starving him."

Bumblebee made a shrill sound and tried in earnest to get loose. "See you tonight, 'Jack!" Hound yelled. He said to the sparkling trying to fight his way loose, "Oh no, not this time. I can keep a snake in a hold and I can keep you in one." The youngling continued to spit angry chirps and whistles as they went back down the hall.

Wheeljack laughed. "He's actually really sweet when he's not in imminent danger of a good scrubbing."

"Is he from Centari, too?" Jazz asked trying to get his footing again in the glitched reality he found himself.

Wheeljack shook his head. "Hound found him in some backwater colony while we were cleaning up a C-7 outbreak. There was one of those Doomsday cults there, had Pit near everyone convinced they were in the End Times they almost didn't give us clearance to land. When we finally did, they didn't let us in the city. But Hound," Wheeljack's mouth lifted in a smile, "Hound doesn't care much for walls or fences. He wanted to get into the city and by Primus, he got into the city. That's where he found Bumblebee. He was hardly more than a sparkling, forgotten or abandoned, at that point it didn't matter. Fraggin' half the colony was dead and the other half infected. He got him back to the ship and Ratchet refused to send him back after he was clear of the virus." Wheeljack rolled his optics like the mech Ratchet flat out refusing to do things was nothing new. "Anyway, that's how we got that little scraplet. For all Hound complains about the runaround he loves the little mech and Bumblebee loves going out and seeing new places and finding new things as much as Hound."

First Aid let go of his hand and scampered away from him to a room with double doors. The pocket doors were hidden leaving the room open to anyone walking by. It was quieter than he thought the dispensary for such a large ship would be. Only a few mechs sat drinking energon and talking. "Awful quiet, figured we'd hear this place three halls over." Jazz said quick optics taking in the central position of the room. It was big enough to hold a couple dozen mechs and he was willing to bet the double doors were reinforced. A good fall back spot if the ship was breached. The bridge was probably close so they could keep a large team in here to hold the halls and protect it.

"Middle of a shift," Wheeljack said with a laugh. "We don't usually bring the little ones down during peak noise times. The crew doesn't mean to be loud but their idea of quiet and First Aid's idea of quiet are a hundred decibels apart." They walked in and Jazz was caught off guard yet again when he saw small pictures of art hung on the walls. Some of them were clearly done by one of the younglings but the others looked like they'd been picked up from an art gallery.

Jazz gestured at some of the art gallery pieces. "Is there an interior decorator onboard?" he asked not faking his laugh. He couldn't imagine any Decepticon ship with the ridiculous waste of credits on the walls. A mech had spent actual credits getting those things instead of paying for a frag or picking up some knives or anything else a hundred times more useful.

Wheeljack laughed with him. "Sometimes Sunstreaker paints something he thinks the rest of us are worthy of looking at. It used to be really rare, but he's been putting more pieces up since Bluestreak started coloring."

Jazz blinked and looked at the impressionist paintings again. "Sunstreaker?" he said. The Twins, terrors of the Kaonian gladiatorial rings and the spawns of the Unmaker himself on the field and one of them fragging _painted_.

"Sunstreaker," Wheeljack said cheerfully.

"What?" an angry growl came from behind them and Jazz twisted around and found one of the Terrors staring him down.

"We were looking at your paintings," Wheeljack answered not the least bit put off by the yellow mech's malice. "Oh and tell your brother to stop teaching Bumblebee the art of escape, Hound is too old to be chasing a youngling around and, Primus love him, Trailbreaker just isn't fast enough to catch him." The yellow mech's glower dropped and a corner of his mouth lifted in a smile that didn't reach his cold almost white optics.

From the corner of the room a happy series of clicks brought all their heads around. A regal Praxian Jazz had only seen in stills and videos sat at a table with his wings draped over his chair like a cape. And on his lap a tiny Praxian sparkling bounced on his lap still clicking. Jazz blinked and stared. "Sparkling?" he said a little hoarse to no one in particular.

A mech leaving the room laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder, "Sparkling!" The rough touch shook Jazz back into himself and he advanced with the same care he would cross a minefield

With so many scars and welds the sparkling looked more like a patched together piece of scrap than an actual Cybertronian. His frame the same color of hot ashes, pale grey with bright streaks of red, was as battered as Jazz figured a sparkling could be. His tiny wings fluttered in excitement though, the shorter one moving a little slower than the other. He squeaked and bounced a couple times before losing his balance. "Oh little Bluestreak," Wheeljack said with no shortage of fondness. "I'll have your prosthetic recalibrated before the orn is over." He followed Sunstreaker over making sparkling noises and Bluestreak trilled with joy.

"He has a prosthetic?" Jazz said. "Primus, what happened to him?" The sparkling settled when Sunstreaker was close enough to touch. Sunstreaker held out a scarred hand tipped with wicked black claws, probably augmented while he was a gladiator, and the sparkling grabbed him without fear. His tiny winglets fluttered with excitement and his vocalizer stuttered with clicks while he chirped. His right arm looked like it had been reattached and river-like burn scars marred the same side. One of his thighs had rough patches where grafts were still scabbing over. "Damn, looks like he got caught in an engine back draft."

Wheeljack stopped while they were still a few steps away from the table and lowered his voice. "Bluestreak is the youngest survivor of Praxus. We found him under the rubble of a hospital." His fins darkened to soft grey. "We really…we didn't think he would survive a joor after we found him. His burns, the energon loss, the shock, all of it, it should have killed him." A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "But he kept fighting and we weren't giving up if he didn't."

"Breathe, Blue," Sunstreaker said with a smile. "Yeah I'll color with you later tonight. We'll do that while Sideswipe loses at his game, again."

The older Praxian, the Autobot Second-In-Command, the glitch himself, Prowl smiled at the sparkling's enthusiasm. "He missed you last septorn." Jazz's optics moved from the sparkling to the officer. There was a time when the Decepticons had well and truly had the Autobots on the ropes and then from out of nowhere… _this._ This Praxian that was almost singlehandedly turning the tide of the war. Jazz kept breathing through force of will. It would be easy, so easy, to put a round through him. None of them were expecting it. He wouldn't have a prayer of surviving, but by _Primus_ Prowl would go down with him.

The small sparkling finally noticed him and his joy at seeing the yellow Terror shut off like a tap. His tiny wings wrapped around him like a hug and he hid his face against Prowl's chest. "Oh Bluestreak," Wheeljack said softly. "You're safe little spark. This is Jazz, he won't hurt you." The soft words didn't convince the sparkling and he clicked. Sunstreaker gave Jazz a withering glare before leaving to get his ration.

Prowl sat up from his relaxed recline in the chair and curled one wing around the sparkling. "Hello, Jazz is it? I'm sorry I wasn't in my office. I wasn't expecting you until after second shift." His low voice was like dark silk, add in the quiet roll his Praxian accent gave his R's and a mech could get weak in the knees.

"Ah, yeah, sorry, found an earlier flight," Jazz said trying to remember when he might have given them an arrival time. It wasn't like him to miss a detail like that. Thankfully he'd gone with civilian transport instead of the quicker Decepticon ride he'd been offered.

Prowl made a soft sound and his optics glowed briefly, probably accessing his file. Every word of it was real. He and Soundwave had figured out the only way to get through the _Ark_ 's security was to have a real file with real mechs who could verify he was who he said he was and was where he said he was. It was the longest undercover op the Decepticons had ever run but patience was paying in spades now.

"I have your room assignment in my office and, Wheeljack, Sideswipe has had that look in his optic, double check your adhesives and magnets." With a long suffering sigh the engineer nodded and looked around for his youngling sitting at a table in a chair two sizes too big listening to two big mechs argue about a show. Prowl pulled the sparkling a little further up to a more comfortable position by his shoulder. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "We have some time before Red Alert will be down to pick up Bluestreak."

Jazz shook his head a little still trying to peak between Prowl's feathers at the small sparkling. "Two younglings and a sparkling," he said. "You got predacons in the showers, too?"

"No, we had to remove them when we brought the younglings on board," Prowl answered with a straight face. Wheeljack's laugh carried in the quiet room and a smile crept across Jazz's face. He wouldn't have guessed from anything he'd seen or heard about the Autobot SIC he had a sense of humor. From under his wing the tiny sparkling peeked out. "Do you feel like saying Hello, Bluestreak?" Prowl asked softly. A tiny squeak answered him and the sparkling ducked back to the shelter of Prowl's wings.

Jazz slid into a chair. "Primus, I feel like I'm on a late night prank show, no mech's gonna jump out and tell me I'm on the wrong ship are they?"

A smile lifted the corner of Prowl's mouth but didn't quite reach his dark optics, blue, but with flecks of amethyst that made them sparkle. There was a flicker of pain when he looked down at the sparkling. "This is Bluestreak, and we do try to keep the cameras away from him. It seems everyone wants a picture of the youngest Praxus survivor."

Jazz stared without blinking. Megatron been hoping the complete loss of Praxus would bring the Autobots to their knees. They'd certainly stumbled, but Praxus had proven itself resilient and they'd rallied. With renewed trade with the Autobot army it looked like the city-state was looking to come back bigger and stronger than before. It would take an eon for them to reach even a fraction of what they once were, but the very idea of them coming back after such devastation was lifting others out of the trenches. Revolts in territories the Decepticons had controlled almost since the start of the war were becoming more frequent. Soundwave did a Pit of a job keeping that under wraps but still, something was going to get out. And they couldn't keep diverting soldiers from the front lines to deal with the unrest.

He blinked and said, "So…how'd he get from Praxus to a warship?" Wheeljack's laugh was rough and without humor and Prowl's expression mirrored the sound.

"Ratchet and Wheeljack put him back together," Prowl said softly. "Part of his wing had to be amputated and we thought he might lose his arm, too. There simply wasn't enough space or medics left in Praxus to give him the care he needed to survive so he stayed on board."

"And," Wheeljack said when it became apparent that was all Prowl was going to say, "when Prowl tried to do the noble thing and give him to an adoption agency, he went into complete emotional shut down. He sat facing a corner, didn't communicate at all. They had to put him on an IV because he stopped eating. And Bluestreak didn't do so well either." Wheeljack smiled when Prowl gave him an unamused look. "Okay, the IV only applies to Bluestreak, but the rest of it is true of Prowl, too."

Sighing Prowl looked down at the small sparkling hiding securely in his wing with little squeaks. His tiny head peeked out again and with a soft chirp he looked at Jazz with fearfulness that didn't fit with what Jazz knew about sparklings. He looked more like an animal caught in a trap. Wheeljack made a soft sound. "His physical scars are only the beginning," he said softly. "His speech center suffered some damage so he's had trouble with words, but he's getting better. Right, Blue. You wanna show Jazz how well you speak?" he coaxed.

The scared animal look left his optics and he uncurled a little more from his little ball. "I speak. Hi," he said in a tiny squeaky voice. Jazz smiled at him. The sparkling looked up at Prowl and pulled the older Praxian's wing closer. "No monsters?"

"No, my love, there are no monsters. This is Jazz, he is new," Prowl murmured.

Jazz's smile faded a little hearing the odd conversation. "That's what he calls the night terrors he has," Wheeljack said softly. "We'll never know what exactly he remembers about that night but he's retained enough visual memory he's aware he was somehow attacked and not just caught in a natural disaster. New things and people make him nervous."

Jazz retracted his visor and was glad to see the Autobots didn't keep their lights at the searing levels the Decepticons preferred. It still stung but he didn't see any halos of light or bouncing dots of color. "See, not that different without the visor, right?" he said folding his arms on the table and resting his chin on them. Bluestreak squeaked at Prowl and then at Wheeljack. He left the haven of Prowl's wing and put his tiny hands on the table to get a better look at Jazz. His whole frame was no bigger than Jazz's forearm. Jazz smiled at him again, nervous as he was there was still curiosity in his bright blue optics. He squeaked at Jazz and reached up to pat his own optics. "Yeah, lights hurt my optics so I have to wear the visor," he said. He slid the visor back down and Bluestreak's tiny wings shot up and a stream of excited squeaks and chirps poured out of him. He started bouncing on Prowl's lap like he had when he saw Sunstreaker, pointing and squeaking gibberish.

"Oh Primus, he'll be talking about this for orns," Wheeljack said with a smile. Prowl listened to the stream of gibberish attentively nodding when Bluestreak looked at him with inquiring clicks and chirps.

"Oi lil' Bluemech, what's got you all a-twitter?" a red and gold mech asked walking into the room. He buzzed and clicked a couple times and Bluestreak pointed at Jazz and squeaked with so much excitement his stutter came back. "Oh, oh, easy lil' mech. Easy," the mech laughed. "Something about raising a wall and making a new person? What? Wheeljack, what'd you give him? What did Ratchet tell you about giving the sparklings high grade."

Wheeljack squawked in protest and a full smile crossed Prowl's face.

Bluestreak squeaked at him and held out his arms with a pitiful beseeching frown. The red and gold mech laughed again, a wild and free sound that Jazz didn't know still existed. "What, did Prowl come all the way down here with ya' and not think to give you your mid-orn bottle?" He grinned and Prowl snorted. "He'll try to con you out of another bottle e'rey joor," the mech said. From the red and yellow mech's feet a lithe dark figure jumped onto the table.

Jazz jerked back in surprise, but he recognized the feline form before he could pull a knife on it. Only the size of a natural cybercat's kitten, the lion had a thick mane of cords and wires that snapped with electricity. A lion symbiont. Jazz looked at the red and gold mech that grabbed the lion's tail. That made him Blaster, the one and only mech in the universe that could actually annoy Soundwave.

"Steeljaw," Prowl said with a disapproving frown. "Blaster may well have been raised by lowland chipwolves but you weren't. Off the table." The lion grinned and jumped into an empty seat while Blaster scowled and him and Prowl.

When the sparkling realized he wasn't going to get anything else to eat he sat back on Prowl's lap with a huff. Wheeljack stretched his long arms and jumped up with a vigor Jazz couldn't imagine Shockwave matching and turned to leave.

"First Aid," Prowl said. His gentle fingers ran up and down Bluestreak's tiny wing joints until the sparkling purred and his optics drooped.

Wheeljack turned back with a brief look of confusion that morphed to surprise and he whirled around looking for the youngling. First Aid slid out of his chair and skipped over to him with a quiet giggle. "Sorry, Aid. I promise I wouldn't have gotten far without you."

Blaster rolled his optics. "'Jack you'd forget your fraggin' head if it wasn't attached." First Aid didn't seem to mind the lapse of memory and took Wheeljack's fingers again walking with him out of the room. Blaster turned his attention to Jazz with a toothy smile. "New mech?" he said and without waiting for Jazz to answer fell back in his chair with dramatic flair. "Thank _Primus_. Now maybe Red Alert will stay the frag outta my space and let me do my job."

Entering the room with sharp precise footfalls a mech in dark red and light grey armor looked over everyone still in the room with ice blue optics. His wintry stare landed on Jazz in seconds and didn't waver. Jazz pulled back from the weight of the stare and for the first time since walking on board doubted his credentials. "You," the mech said in a voice as cold as his optics, "are early."

"He found an earlier flight, Red Alert," Prowl said. "These things happen quite often." The contrast of his warm voice against the cold steel of the red and grey mech's was like fire and ice.

Blaster threw up his hands. "See, this just proves my point. You yell at me when I'm late and now you're yelling at him because he's early. There is no pleasing you, Red."

Red Alert.

Jazz brought in a slow breath and tried to slow his spark pulse. The _Ark_ 's security director, a living menace with the supernatural ability to suss out Decepticon base plans. Credits, time, and personnel had been wasted over the vorns trying to find the snitch giving the Autobots their base schematics but out of the dozen of searches they'd never found anyone. It was like meeting the Unmaker in person. Red Alert didn't blink. His optics saw every little thing from the way Jazz sat to the scuffs on his armor. He'd known the _Ark_ security would be tight but here he was staring at the one mech on the ship that could bring down the entire op.

"There were no earlier flights," Red Alert said ignoring Blaster, every bit of his concentration on Jazz. "If you left the base you said you were leaving at the time you said, you had only two options. You did choose the earliest flight, but not even jumping space could the ship have landed you here this early." His scowl deepened and his chin tilted down a fraction. Light glinted off the sharp curve of his horns. They didn't curl back in graceful curlicues like he'd seen on other Gygaxians, they were shorter and sharper, curved like fangs. A true Gygaxian warrior then, not some mech drafted off the streets.

"I, uh…courier…" Jazz said not looking away, he'd never tangled with a real Gygaxian warrior. All the ones he'd sparred with or fought had been drafted, their horns more decoration than actual weapons. The heavy armor around Red Alert's shoulders was scarred and gouged from blades; one horn had a nick in the side. A long scar down the side of his face could have been from another dagger-like horn or a blade strike.

Red Alert said nothing for a long breem and then he lifted his chin and looked past Jazz at Prowl. "One express courier ship stopped by the base at 2700 hours they logged a pick-up of one passenger as well as a parcel and noted an additional stop at the port where we are currently docked."

Bluestreak squeaked at the imposing Gygaxian and gave him the same sad look he'd given Blaster. Red Alert tilted his head to the side but didn't stare down the sparkling. "Bluestreak, I am well aware you have already eaten," his words were clipped but his tone was softer. Bluestreak made his little huffing sound again and a smile flickered across Red Alert's face. "And Blaster, I expect you to arrive when you say you will arrive, not half a joor later and not," he glared at Jazz once more, "earlier."

Prowl stood and stretched his wings. Not the impressive wingspan of a seeker, they weren't meant for actual flight but short glides. Heavier than seeker wings they also made better battering weapons and were less prone to breaks and strains. The long silver feathers on Prowl's wings were crisscrossed with pearl white scars. Bluestreak stretched his tiny ash grey wings too, the left one with scars to match Prowl's. "Are you ready for your nap?" Prowl asked. Bluestreak yawned and squeaked.

Red Alert took Bluestreak, careful not to lift him under his arms where the strain could damage his wing joints, and cradled him in one arm. The severe warrior that had sent Jazz's spark ricocheting a few breems ago was gone, his scowl a more neutral expression that made the scar of the side of his face less intimidating. "Are you still picking him up before he goes with the Twins tonight?" he asked, his optics sliding over to Jazz and still ice cold.

"Yes," Prowl answered. "This won't take long and Blaster has volunteered to give Jazz the tour."

"I did?" Blaster said. He looked at his symbiont who looked just as confused.

"Indeed. You agreed to do so when you filled the washracks with bubbles." Prowl folded his wings back, further back than Jazz had ever seen a seeker do, which accentuated his slender frame.

Blaster scowled at him. "I knew you let me off too easy with that," he muttered. "Fine," he said louder, "But since the new mech is here, you don't get to hover over my shoulder all shift like you've been doin'." He pointed at Red Alert.

"Red Alert, you have enough responsibilities," Prowl said in a tone that said he'd had this conversation before and would again. "Blaster is perfectly capable of handling communications on his own." Blaster crossed his arms and lifted his chin with an I-Told-You-So glare at the Gygaxian.

"I don't recall music and video searches being a part of his responsibilities," Red Alert shot back.

"Somebody has to make sure the video streaming and file sharing networks are still secure," Blaster said. "It's a long, tedious job watching little cat vids and bumpin' some great tunes, but some mech has to do it. It's for the good of us all."

Red Alert made an irritated sound but Bluestreak yawned again and snuggled closer to his warm chest. "See if you can get Red Alert to take a nap with you, my love," Prowl said softly. "It might improve his mood." Bluestreak clicked softly in his arms, optics closed. Red Alert snorted and did a quick aboutface before striding for the door.

Blaster canted his head listening to his footfalls recede and then grinned at Jazz. "Congratulations, you survived!"

"Blaster," Prowl sighed.

"Are you sure?" Jazz said with a shaky laugh. "Primus, feel like my plates got peeled off." He shook himself all over to dislodge the lingering feeling of Red Alert's cold suspicion.

"Well he didn't shoot you like he did the last mech so he must like you," Blaster said with a yawn. Jazz gave him a look bordering on horror and disbelief. If Blaster had said that before he'd met Red Alert he would've laughed, but he had a feeling the mech wasn't above putting a round in someone if their story didn't line up.

Prowl gave Blaster a warning look. "Don't tell the new mechs that, Blaster," there was a scolding tone to his voice that made him sound like a creator instead of the second highest general in the Autobot army. "He only did that once and it was a long time ago," he added before Jazz could laugh at how fast he'd fallen for the joke.

Blaster's optics popped wide and he looked at Prowl with suspicion. "He did not. He didn't actually shoot somemech. When? When'd he shoot them?"

"Come along, Jazz. It will be easier for you to settle into your room before the shift ends." He walked for the doors without looking back at Blaster still shouting questions.

Jazz jogged to catch up to the SIC, his wings shimmered when he passed under the lights and true to his name he moved with hardly a sound. "He didn't really shoot anyone, did he?" Jazz asked with a fair share of worry.

The corner of Prowl's mouth quirked in a smile. "He has a glitch that can make him rather intense," he said instead of answering the question. "Try not to take it to spark, transfers are always very stressful for him and we're on a neutral dock which only adds to it. Once we're on the move he'll relax."

They reached Prowl's office, Jazz starting to get back into his groove and Prowl frowning at a datpad in his hand. He put the pad away and keyed open the door. Jazz's giddy excitement started to bubble in him again but this time he put the clamp on it. No low level recruit was going to be glitched about walking into a superior's office.

He didn't expect sensitive information to be left out in the open, but he was expecting maps with code scribbled across them like Starscream had in his office. He was expecting blacked out datpads to be on the desk, casualty reports, shipping lists, and all the other things that populated the desks of war leaders. But Prowl's office was quiet and plain. There were datpads on the desk but they were stacked in a basket labeled Shift Reports. On the left wall several shelves were filled with datpads all of them labeled mundane things that belonged more in a Cybertronian Resources office than a SIC's. On the right side of the room was a small shelf stacked with coloring styluses and large datpads with colorful casings. Hanging above the desk in a place of honor was a scribbled picture that might have been a flower.

"I always expect offices to be dark and scary," Jazz said offhand.

"That one I keep by the brig," Prowl answered. He picked up two datpads and handed them to Jazz. "The one on top is a quick map that will get you to all the essential places; your quarters, dispensary, rec rooms, sparring rooms, firing range, etc. The one underneath is a copy of code and conduct. It's the same you've seen before, though we have one added stipulation," Prowl said. "We do not discuss First Aid, Bumblebee, or Bluestreak outside of the ship."

Jazz nodded slowly. "Looks like that's a rule everyone actually follows." As long as he'd been among the Autobots he'd never even heard a rumor of the three little mechlings. It was a wonder and a miracle the crew of over 1,500 hadn't let slip even a word about their youngest members.

"When it comes to their safety the crew takes every precaution," Prowl said with a smile that didn't light his dark optics a mech could lose himself in. "And on that note," he added another datpad to Jazz's stack. "Youngling and sparkling rules. They're not too strenuous. Mostly they involve keeping doors secured. Bumblebee especially is one to get into everything but First Aid isn't above some light mischief. We don't need them wandering into the firing range or getting into the washracks where they can be seriously injured." He looked at the shelf of coloring styluses and colorful datpads. "Bluestreak likes to grab things so keep weapons securely holstered or hidden."

An unexpected smile spread across Jazz's face. "You know, I was pretty excited to get aboard the _Ark_ but this is turning into a bigger adventure than I imagined." The flecks of amethyst in Prowl's optics glowed when he smiled.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** Younglings and sparklings running amuck and Decepticon Jazz prowling the halls. What could possibly go wrong?

*This Will Be A Slow Update*

I just need to channel my stress energy into something.


	2. Chapter 2

Blaster bopped down the hall, his feet moving almost in dance steps and his shoulders shimmying with the beat of whatever he was listening to. Jazz had never been next to someone who had such an extravagant walk, it almost distracted him from what Blaster was saying. The light flashing on his shining red and gold armor was also a distraction. Autobots were always so over polished.

"Did Prowl say what tour, like just hit the spots you'll visit most or did he want, like, the full tour?" Blaster asked. His chest plates slid apart and his lion flipped out. "Ow, damn, fine, but you're out for the rest of the orn. None of this going back and forth slag." The lion huffed and started prowling down the hall with his nose down. "Glitch," Blaster said and then turned back to Jazz. Jazz shrugged. Prowl hadn't told him anything. "Sweet we'll do the short one—no wait… we'll do the long one." He scowled a little. "He's doin' this 'cause I fragged off Ironhide, so we'll probably both get a test at the end of it."

He started walk-dancing again. Jazz asked, "So where you from? I thought most symbionts were from the Polyhex/Kalis border but I don't hear an accent."

Blaster barked a laugh. "Nah, I wish. I'm from Iacon, sparked and raised. Would'a been nice to grow up with some other symbionts. E'rybody I knew always wanted to introduce me to their other friends like I was some weird new species. Hated it there." Jazz nodded but didn't understand. He had been sparked and raised in Polyhex where he'd never stood out from the crowd. Not until he'd been conscripted to the Decepticons and found his knack for infiltration and sabotage had anyone looked twice at him.

He glanced around the hall like he didn't want to be overheard and scouted no less than four cameras. They were heading to a lower level so his best guess was some sort of armory or munitions storage, maybe the brig. "So, uh, what gives with Red Alert? Did I say something wrong or does he always give the third degree."

Blaster's laugh was full of humor this time and carried down the hall. "That's just Red. He doesn't really warm up to you, he just stops watching everything you do. He's got a glitch, some kind of paranoia thing, like, full blown delusions sometimes."

"He has delusions?" Jazz said louder than he maybe should have.

Blaster waved it off like it wasn't anything to worry about. "Not so much anymore, Prowl really helps him. Everyone pretty much has the same shift schedule every septorn and if he makes changes he always gives Red a full updated list." Blaster shrugged. "And we don't get as many transfers as other ships. Since we got the little ones, you know, not supposed to talk about them off ship. If we had transfers comin' and going all the time it'd be impossible to guarantee no one's gonna say something."

"Little ones," Jazz said, his mind drifting back to the patched together sparkling. The hall they were walking down didn't have any of the little touches the dispensary had. It was as long, cold, and sterile as every other ship hall he'd ever been down. "What…I mean, was it hard adjusting to having them?" Jazz asked with genuine curiosity. "I've never spent any real time with anymech younger than a new recruit, like, what do I have to look forward to or prepare for here?"

Humming a little piece of the song he was listening to Blaster said after a moment. "Well, see, the rules for the Blue, Aid, and Bee weren't really that different from the rules we had for Wheeljack. I mean, the basics are the same; keep an eye on them in the wash racks so they don't trip and drown or something and keep the firing range doors locked so they don't wander into live ordinance."

Jazz snorted and covered his mouth. A grin lit Blaster's face. "Okay, I might've made up the last one, but the rest of it's true. Like, they don't go offship without an escort, period. 'Cause 'Jack, Primus love him, he's the smartest mech I've ever met, a fraggin' genius, but I swear to Primus anymech can walk up to him and say, 'Hey, wanna see a particle collider?' and he'd be like, 'Yeah!' and just go with them."

Jazz's laugh was louder and more on par with Blaster's carefree sound than his usual scripted chuckle. Blaster snorted but kept smiling. "I mean it. And the stupid thing is, he'd question it the whole fraggin' time, like, 'How'd you know I'd want to see a particle collider?' and slag like that. But he'd still go because he wants to see this thing." Blaster shrugged. "For the little ones, though, Prowl will help you. Mostly it's keeping them safe and healthy. I mean, we're not gonna ask you to watch Bumblebee for a joor or something, you might apply for another transfer."

Jazz pretended to consider what he said for a breem before slipping in another subject change. "So you like Prowl? I can't figure out if he likes me or not. Like, when we were talking at the table I didn't think he did but in the office, maybe?" Jazz laughed but it didn't have the true ringing tone that Blaster's did, his sounded flat. The reached heavy fortified doors with a couple different types of cameras running on at least two different power sources.

Tapping his fingers along the wall in a repeating pattern Blaster nodded. "Brig," he said to introduce the place. And yeah, e'rbody likes Prowl. He can be kinda strict, sure, but he's always fair about it. He's super smart, too. Like, Wheeljack is a glitchin' genius, but Prowl's like…I dunno, intuitive? He's just got a way of knowing what the right thing to do is." Blaster sounded a little wistful on that last part and Jazz took note.

"Blaster!" Came a muffled shout from inside. "Let me out, glitch." Blaster rapped his fingers across the keypad too fast for Jazz to catch and the door slid open with a loud ding that carried down the hall. He peeked in and whistled. Inside a short red mech glared at the door.

"What's this? Cliffjumper and no Sunstreaker?" Blaster laughed and the mech growled. "Forget it, you can come out when Prowl lets you out. I let you out now we'll both be in here for the night. Enjoy your stay!"

"You half-glitched, useless piece of scrap! You shouldn't even be an officer," the mech yelled as the doors slid shut again.

Blaster pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Cliff's an aft, he'll try to get under your plates so you can either beat the slag outta him and spend a night in the brig or ignore him and have him think you're too scared to fight." He started bopping down the hall again. Steeljaw galloped past them to the lift at the end of the hall.

"Wait, you're an officer?" Jazz said without any feigned surprise. He didn't see any insignia's on Blaster's armor and he'd not heard anyone refer to him as an officer.

Blaster laughed his loud laugh that made Jazz's lips twitch in a smile, too. "E'ryone's always so surprised when they learn that. Believe me, I was surprised, too." They reached the lift and Blaster tapped the wall and a keypad flickered to life. He ran his fingers across it in a blur and hit the Up button when the pad chirped. "Communications officer." His nose wrinkled a little. "See, it doesn't even sound right. Blaster, Communications Officer." He shuddered a little and then laughed. They stepped into the lift and he said, "Handpicked by Prowl, too. I _wish_ I could've been in that meeting. Oh Primus, the look on Ironhide's face must have been incredible."

"Prowl picked you? So I guess your previous answer is a little biased." The joke slid out without any thought. His conversations were so often strategy games, every comment and question meant to get information but with Blaster the game fell apart. The conversation was natural and it felt odd.

Blaster hummed and tilted his head back and forth a couple times before laughing and saying. "Yeah, it probably is. I mean, I wasn't anything special when I signed up. I was barely a soldier, like, unless I was carrying a weapon a lot of people thought I was civilian. I didn't do much, I just wanted to get through my time and head out to do some music." He tapped the side of his head where he was still listening to songs. "That's what got me in trouble. You know you're not supposed to use the communication network to download songs, but I can't stand not having my tunes. So I'd download stuff while I was on shift. Like, I never compromised the network; if someone needed to get through they could, but I got caught a couple times and got in trouble for it. I was probably on my way to a discharge when Prowl asked me if I wanted to run communications for the whole fraggin' army."

Jazz rubbed his forehead trying to decide if Prowl was a genius or a double agent like him. Blaster's fingers tapped against his hips as the lift doors opened a few levels above the brig. Blaster's self-estimation of him not looking or acting like an officer was dead on. If not for the scars on him it would be easy to think he was another orphan all grown up. And Prowl had trusted him with not just an officer position, but the communications post. "Why?" Jazz said before he could stop himself. He bit his glossa hard enough the sour metallic taste of energon burned his mouth.

Blaster didn't take offense and grinned, his symbiont chuffed a laugh before springing off the lift. "No idea, but I'm good at it. I like it. I didn't think I would at first, I told him I wanted nothin' to do with an officer title, but he asked me to try it for a couple septorns just to see." He shrugged. "It's my element, I mean, I love gossip and being in the network and that's all communications is. Granted, the gossip is like super-secret stuff and sometimes really boring, but it's still something I like doing. And I get to listen to all the songs I want."

"You know, most mechs work their afts off to become officers," Jazz said shaking his head. Blaster grinned.

"Okay, here's the lower sparring room," Blaster said getting back to the tour. "Not a lot of mechs use this unless you want to work on stuff alone. I think Prowl and Red Alert are the two that use it the most." He opened the door to a sparring room that looked as little used as he'd said. Where normally mats had patches and small tears this one was still as shiny as the day it was installed. The dents and gouges Jazz was used to seeing on sparring room walls were missing. There weren't even any extra towels or practice weapon racks. "Not much to it, but if you need someplace quiet to work, this is it."

"You know what Prowl and Red Alert use it for?" Jazz asked a little intrigued by the unused room. The _Nemesis_ was larger than the _Ark_ and still every sparring room had been used and worn almost down to the rivets and threads.

"Red Alert, no fraggin' idea," Blaster said closing the door. "Prowl though, is from Praxus, he's got some kind of specialized sword training. That's what he works when he's down here. He doesn't mind if you wanna watch; he just prefers you stay quiet so he can focus."

"Prowl's actually from Praxus?" Jazz said again with no scripted surprise in his voice. "I thought Praxus pulled everyone back after the attack. I thought everyone went back."

For the first time since meeting him, Blaster's face clouded. "Yeah, Optimus asked him if he wanted to go back but he said no." Jazz's optics widened even more. He couldn't believe the Autobots were still holding their own in battles. Prowl was their savior, without him they would have been eradicated centicycles ago and the Prime had asked him if he wanted to _leave?_

"I don't know why he stayed, I felt really bad about it because I thought he maybe didn't think he could leave us, like we wouldn't survive without him," Blaster said softly. "But I don't know, maybe it has nothing to do with us. I mean, he's got Bluestreak, I figure if he was going to leave he would've done it when he finally accepted how much he loves the lil' mech.

"Yeah, he and Wheeljack told me what happened to Bluestreak," Jazz said once again back to his script. "Seems fraggin' impossible."

Blaster nodded and his optics lowered to his feet. "It really was. That hospital, it was just a pile of smoldering rocks, not much more than dust. All those little bodies. Yeah, that was bad." His optics darkened a shade and became more distant. "I don't think anymech really thinks about what leveling a city means, you know. Like, it's not just soldiers that get shot, it's mechs who are out with friends or they're at home asleep. You know, you take out a base and, well, we all expect a shell to come through the ceiling eventually, right? Like we're trained for it, but cities are different. You can't say you're gonna drop some plasfire and only hit adults, you get everyone."

Jazz listened to his soft voice frowning a little. He'd never given city raids much thought at all but it seemed Blaster had. Too much philosophy. The Autobots spent too much time trying to figure out how not to hurt everyone's feelings instead of figuring out how to win. Steeljaw reappeared and brushed against Blaster's leg with a soft sound. Blaster reached down and pulled his symbiont into his arms, optics still a shade too dark and distant. For the first time since the tour started, they walked in silence and Jazz started to feel uncomfortable in his own armor. It wasn't natural, the silence, he sifted through all the questions he could ask, all the things he needed to know, trying to find some way to bring Blaster back.

They wove back and forth through the halls, Blaster quiet and pointing out different rooms with only a few words. Steeljaw stayed curled in his arms purring and mrowing as the continued silence ratcheted up Jazz's apprehension. He usually liked the quiet, did his best work when it was quiet. But this quiet was something new, like the prickly silence before a storm or a breath drawn waiting to be released.

"So…I have one thing," Jazz said slowly. Blaster lifted his head and blinked. "Why did Bluestreak's creators name him Bluestreak when he's not blue or streaky? Was he blue when he was sparked?"

Blaster's face broke into a wide smile and he snickered but didn't outright laugh. "That's the name Prowl gave him," he said with a smile tinged with sadness. "A lot of the files in Praxus were lost or corrupted so we don't know what Blue's original name was. But Prowl, he explained it to me, 'cause I asked the same damn thing." His forehead scrunched a little making him look younger than he already was. "So, I didn't know this, but in the northernmost reaches of Praxus they don't have seasons or anything like the rest of us, they have Sun and Moon cycles. So for half a vorn or so the suns are out almost all orn, like it never gets dark, and the other half is the opposite; moons are out and it never gets light," Blaster said by way of introduction.

Jazz listened with interest. He didn't know Praxus stretched that far north, he thought only Kaon did that.

"So there's this old, old Praxian mythology from up there and they have this god, his name is Bluestreak and he's the Suns' Herald. He's one of the bright stars that appears a couple septorns before the moons finally set and the suns rise. He's also a messenger of Death, which sounds really morbid, but it's not. He collects the sparks of younglings and sparklings that die from the cold or whatever else and guides them through the afterlife to a place where they can be reborn safe and warm." Blaster gave him another smile. "So he's also like a god of rebirth and, I looked a bit more into it, he's also a patron of injured younglings or younglings with chronic illness. Supposedly, Praxians used to leave offerings if their little sparks were injured in some way and he'd help them heal."

Jazz absorbed his words in silence as they walked. He tagged all the cameras he saw but that was routine. His mind turned over the story a couple times thinking of the little patched together sparkling. A sparkling colored like ash and embers and named after an old god of rebirth. Bluestreak had a lot to live up to. "That…sounds like a name Prowl would pick," Jazz said at last. Blaster laughed his full laugh and Jazz smiled.

Blaster started coming back to himself. The silence retreated and he pointed out more storage rooms with vague explanations that kind of irritated Jazz, but were he a regular recruit he wouldn't give two frags about what was in storage. They wound their way around the ship, Jazz discreetly snapping stills of joints and other easily compromised structural points. He was impressed by how few there were. Though, with Wheeljack firmly on the Autobot's side it wasn't really a surprise. Shockwave was good with weapons, but when it came to ship designs that was usually picked up from agents like Jazz or captured Autobot ships.

They rounded a corner having come back down the belly of the ship to see the hangar. They hadn't had a chance to go in and walk around like Jazz wanted but the supplies from the dock were still being unloaded and sorted. "Now, for your final test," Blaster said with no shortage of drama. He slowed his walk as they approached a set of doors. One was closed but the other was open spilling sterile white light into the hall. "You have to face…Ratchet! And get out without any dents."

"I never dent on the first appointment, get in here," a cranky voice yelled. Blaster jumped behind Jazz and followed him into the med bay. Steeljaw belly crawled across the floor like he was under fire and Jazz laughed until he stepped across the threshold.

Jazz had met his fair share of Ahnkmorians but they were usually from urban hubs and often with mixed heritage. The Ahnkmorian standing in the med bay looked like he'd stepped right out of a history still. His arms, bare of armor, had beautiful raised mercury silver scars in an Ahnkmorian dialect Jazz didn't know as well as battle scars that crisscrossed his dark taupe frame. Tall, but not leggy and lanky like Wheeljack, he had broad shoulders that slimmed down to a lean waist. Sheathed on either side of his hips were short curved blades. If not for the fire red medic insignia on his cream armor he would have looked like another frontliner.

"A medic with weapons?" Jazz said coming to a complete stop. The Ahnkmorian lifted an optic ridge but didn't look up from his tablet. The other Ahnkmorians Jazz had met had always been quick to temper and quick to fight; every one of them with a chip in their armor. This Ahnkmorian, this _medic_ , put all of them to shame. His presence filled the medbay and commanded more respect than Starscream and his entire trine.

Blaster smothered a giggle.

"Ratchet is of the Ahnkmorian warrior class, as all traditional medics are," Prowl's low voice answered. Jazz jumped a little, unused to mechs being able to come up behind him. Recharge heavy chirps came from under a wing.

Ratchet put the tablet down and looked up. Soft blue optics ringed in gold flicked over Jazz once and then moved to Prowl. Mercury silver scars streaked across one side of his face and neck. "I haven't seen Wheeljack since he dropped First Aid off." Where Prowl's voice was warm silk the medic's was like aged high grade; rough and smooth and dark. It was a far cry from Hook's high whine.

"I assumed you hadn't," Prowl answered. "You said you wanted to check the graft on his leg before he had a bath." He lifted his wing so Ratchet could see Bluestreak.

The sparkling made a quiet sound and the hard lines on Ratchet's face softened. "Are you looking forward to your bath?" he asked while his large hands lifted Bluestreak from Prowl's arms. He could probably hold the sparkling in just one hand, in both Bluestreak was as hidden as he'd been in Prowl's wing.

Tiny wings fluttered when Ratchet set him on the table. He chirped and squeaked, "Da!" and Blaster grinned like a proud creator.

"Perceptor brought down a new bottle of bubbles," Prowl said with a smile in his voice. Bluestreak squeaked and clapped his hands in excitement. "And of course, after his bath he gets to spend a couple joors with the Twins."

Ratchet made an unimpressed sound but Bluestreak looked thrilled. "It looks like it's finally starting to take," he said after a moment of silence from him. Bluestreak continued to chatter gibberish, pointing at things and looking at Prowl for a comment before finding something else.

"That means he doesn't need another surgery, right?" Blaster said hopefully.

"Too early to tell," Ratchet said with more of his focus on his excitable little patient than Blaster's question. Bluestreak tried to crawl away and Ratchet scooped him up and turned him around. "But as long as the growth I'm seeing now continues, there's a good chance he won't need anymore." Bluestreak squeaked at him like he couldn't understand why Ratchet was being unreasonable about his exploration.

"Sweet," Blaster said dancing in place. Bluestreak made a grab for one of Ratchet's knives but the medic smoothly intercepted him and gave him a small wrench instead. Bluestreak whistled happily and clicked and squeaked while holding the wrench, pointing it at Prowl and all around the room. "You wanna see something fraggin' hilarious?" Blaster asked. He didn't wait for Jazz to answer before saying. "Blue, Bluestreak, show Jazz how Ratchet fixes things."

Ratchet shot him a paint peeling glare but Bluestreak chirped happily. He banged the wrench on the berth a couple times with tiny growls and hisses. Blaster had to sit on the floor while he laughed.

"That doesn't inspire a lot of confidence," Jazz said, but there was a laugh in his voice he didn't expect to be there.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** Baby Bluestreak is now my second favorite character to write, just behind Prowl. So tomorrow I have a sixteen and a half hour flight. Good chance there will be updates both for this and _Master's Apprentice_ when I land.

Thank you for R/R/F/F!


	3. Chapter 3

Jazz walked into the noisy rec room a couple joors later with Blaster, his optics taking in the room with a quick practiced optic. The room wasn't as defensible as the dispensary since it was around a blind corner and the room layout matched his original assumption that it wouldn't be a tactical place to hole up. The rec room was clearly designed to be large enough to hold a lot of mechs off shift. And the mechs and femmes were trickling in, in twos and threes filling the open room.

Three couches were set up around a wall mounted holovid screen. The couches were mostly full and other mechs were pulling up chairs as credits rolled and a preview for the next vid started in the bottom left corner. Across the room a large circular table was crowded with mechs and femmes holding cards with a pot of small credits tossed in the middle. There was a scattering of other tables with mechs either polishing or oiling weapons, talking, or reading.

It didn't look anything like the _Nemesis_. Jazz avoided the rec room on Megatron's flagship like a C-7 outbreak. A joor didn't go by without one or three mechs getting dragged down to the brig for brawling and the shouts and yells were enough to give him a processor ache for orns.

The noise here was still loud, but not abrasive and he brought his sensor net up closer to its normal settings. Blaster bumped his shoulder. "They're quiet 'cause Blue's in here. Once he's off to recharge then you'll wanna cover your audios. Bunch'a overcharged fraggers," he said with a smile.

In a quieter corner the shining yellow terror he had seen earlier lay on his chest with a pad and stylus in front of him. A red mech to match the yellow lay on his side with his back to the room. And there between them a sparkling the color of embers had his own large coloring pad and a large coloring stylus in his hand. He chattered sparkling gibberish not looking up from his work. His optics held an intense focus as he carefully dragged the stylus across the page and then changed colors and scribbled furiously.

Blaster snickered next to him and he glanced at the mech. "You look like Hound when he sees somethin' he's never seen before. Forget it, though, Sunny an' Sides keep everyone away. I think that's why he likes bein' with them so much. He can sit and color all he wants an' he doesn't have us all hoverin' around him askin' him questions and e'rything."

A tiny yellow rocket streaked through the room with a loud whirr and the mechs that had their weapons out immediately clicked the safeties on and holstered them securely. The small yellow and black youngling did a lap around the room before running over to Bluestreak. The sparkling watched him with wide blue optics and clicked once when the youngling stopped in front of him. Sunstreaker pulled out another colorful pad and handed it to the youngling.

"Primus, feel like I've been in the field for a vorn," a worn Hound said coming up next to Blaster. The green mech put an around around Blaster's shoulder and rubbed the back of his head in rough affection.

"That's Bumblebee, right?" Jazz said watching the youngling start coloring with Bluestreak. The two squeaked and chirped at each other, Bluestreak's squeaks turning scolding when Bumblebee tried to sneak a peek at his page.

Blaster laughed. "The one and only! Heard he gave you a runaround earlier this orn," he said with a cheeky smile at Hound. The flashy red and yellow mech leaned against the old scout and rested his head on Hound's shoulder.

The old scout groaned, "I just don't understand what he's got against water." Blaster started laughing again and Jazz watched them out the corner of his optics. He had thought Blaster was an anomaly with as touchy and clingy as he was. But the more he looked around the rec room he saw most mechs were sitting close or leaning against each other.

Bluestreak scribbled a couple more colors on his pad and then looked up and around the room. His tiny face scrunched in a frown that, to Jazz, looked like the beginning of a tantrum. Sunstreaker and his Pit spawned brother also raised their heads. "What's wrong, Blue?" Sideswipe asked. The sparkling looked down at his colorful scribbles and his tiny wings folded close around him. "I miss Flower," he said slowly, taking care to pronounce each word.

Sideswipe rolled his optics but Sunstreaker just nodded and said, "That's okay, Blue." Blaster and Hound both sighed. Blaster lifted his head from Hound's shoulder and ambled over to the holoscreen. Hound gave a tall red and white mech with a fire team insignia a cheerful greeting. Jazz followed Blaster.

"Who's Flower?" he asked once they were out of the sparkling's audio range. The mechs and femmes that heard the question groaned.

"Primus, don't say it so loud," a dark pink and blue femme hissed. "You'll have him crying if you bring it up." Jazz raised his optic ridges. Had they found another sparkling in Praxus? One that hadn't survived. He tried to find a way to backtrack, but how was he supposed to know! He hadn't known Bluestreak existed until a few joors ago.

"I'm, uh, sorry," he said a little awkwardly. The others glanced at Bluestreak coloring next to Bumblebee well protected between the Kaonian Terrors. "I didn't know he had a friend."

"Blue's got a friend in everyone," Blaster laughed.

"But what happened to her?" Jazz asked looking back at the tiny sparkling.

Blaster tilted his head to the side. "Who?"

"Flower."

Blaster stared at him for two seconds before breaking out in a loud laugh that was echoed by a couple others. "Nah, my mech, Flower's a flower. You know, a flower."

Jazz's stared at him. "…like a…a flower? A flower, flower?"

"Yeah, got a stem, green leaves, pretty when it blooms, a flower," the femme said. Jazz's optics darted between the two of them.

Blaster leaned on the back of a couch still with a crooked smile on his face. "Nah, see, like last vorn or somethin' we were on a planet and Blue saw a pretty flower so he picked it." He shrugged. "So you know, a couple orns later it starts to get a lil' wilty. So he rushed down to Ratchet thinkin' it was sick." A couple mechs shook their heads and the pink and blue femme covered her face. Blaster chuckled. "Poor Ratch, had to break it to the little guy that without roots and dirt his flower was dying." His smile wilted a little. "Blue was so upset."

"Tore him up," the femme said with a sigh. "Next planet we landed on he buried it."

Jazz shot a look to Blaster to verify. The red and gold mech nodded solemnly.

"Slag," Jazz said looking around the faces.

A bright yellow mech with dark blue feet and arms said, "We had a service. Very moving."

"Blaster cried," the femme deadpanned.

"I did," the mech said. He pushed off the couch with a laugh. Jazz stared at him still not believing it. What sparkling cried over a flower? This had to be a prank like Blaster telling him Red Alert shot a mech.

Blaster read his face and chuckled, "I promise, you've seen it. That picture Prowl has in his office, that's Flower." Jazz remembered the scribbled picture, it had resembled a flower. He could feel his mouth sliding open. The mechs were serious. "Anyway," Blaster said, "that's why we don't talk about Flower."

 **oOo**

Jazz sat on his berth and let out a slow breath. Spark deep weariness settled over him as he looked over the bare little room. It was almost identical to the many others he'd had while in the Autobot army, the desk pushed against the wall was just big enough for a couple of datpads and knickknacks, next to it a small holoscreen sat atop a three drawer dresser. No closet or wash rack, only officer quarters had those as far as he'd seen. As soon as he had the officers' rhythms down he would be getting into their quarters and he'd know if Optimus indulged his officers like Megatron. Right now though, he wanted to recharge. Shucking off his armor and tossing it within easy reach he curled up on his berth and pulled the blanket over him. The _Ark_ wasn't as cold as the _Nemesis_ but since they didn't have as many seekers bleeding heat into the air they could keep the temperature at a more reasonable level.

He still shivered.

His frame was meant for hot, humid weather not this dry cool air. He shivered for a couple more breems trying to warm himself enough he could slip into recharge and forget about the cold for a couple joors. Sighing, he sat up and pushed the blanket off.

Clicking his armor back on, he curled up again with the ridges pressing into him at uncomfortable angles and still shivered. He'd almost bought an extra blanket a couple orns before departure but hadn't wanted to carry it or repack his bag to fit it in. Now he cursed his past self.

After another joor of tossing and turning he threw the blanket off and got up. Going to the desk he found the datpad with the map and sought out a wash rack. A warm bath would make the night better. If it wasn't a popular rack he might be able to stay for most of the night without being disturbed.

He found one a hall over and tossed the pad back on the desk and heading for the door with his arms held around him for warmth. He checked his temperature gauge and mentally thrashed himself for not paying attention to it earlier. If the _Ark_ lowered its temperature during the night cycle he was going to be cold and miserable until he found some good blankets at their next stop and who the frag knew what that would be. He might be able to slip into a supply closet in the med bay and sneak a thermal blanket for a couple septorns. Things like that were never missed because they were so infrequently used.

Walking into the wash rack he flicked on only one set of lights and had to blink against the glare. All he saw at first were two rows of showers. He didn't want a shower, but if that was his only option he'd take it. Wandering a little further into the room he went around a short wall and found a couple of quiet baths that didn't look like they'd been used in some time or ever. The sandy brown tile was still glossy and the grout almost pure white, the enamel lip wasn't scuffed or scratched.

Jazz turned on the hot water and flinched back from the loud sound. It came out colder than winter at first but in a breem steam began rising from the stream. Shutting the drain he pulled his armor off again and let his legs dangle over the side while he looked around. With the short wall separating him from the showers he could stay in the racks all night without anyone seeing him. If the baths were as unused as they looked this could be his new recharging spot. He swirled his toes in the steaming water with a happy sigh. Sliding in his exoform tingled as it hit the hot water but the sting lifted as the cold leached out of him and warmth seeped in. Turning off the water he leaned his head back with a long relaxed sigh no longer shivering.

 **oOo**

The staccato rap of water hitting tile jerked Jazz awake. His bath was only lukewarm now and there were other voices in the showers. Yawning and rubbing his optics he hit the drain on the tub and dragged himself out. Moisture started to warm the air as more showers turned on but Jazz still shivered while he put his armor back on. Once he was up and moving he'd be better but the first joor after waking was always the hardest. Between his natural nocturnal nature and the uncomfortable chilly air it was an exercise of willpower that got him out of his berth every morning.

The mechs closest to the baths did a double take when they saw him but didn't seem hostile. The others were still half in recharge and didn't notice him leaving. Yawning and rubbing his optics once more before clicking down his visor he started the short trek back to his quarters to pick up his map and shift schedule.

Turning the corner he was surprised to see Prowl in the hall reading a datpad. Jazz slowed his approach when he realized Prowl was outside his door. Before he could find a polite way to ask what the SIC wanted Prowl looked up with a faint smile in welcome. "Good morning, Jazz. I have something for you." He pulled out another datpad and handed it to him.

Jazz skimmed it and looked up. "You gave me my schedule yesterorn," he said with a frown. Prowl beckoned for him to follow and started walking down the hall. Jazz hesitated a second and then jogged a couple steps to catch up. He was stuck on grunt work for the foreseeable future. He'd complain, but really, the best way to learn how to make a ship tick was cleaning bulkheads.

"I revised it," Prowl said. Now that Jazz was closer he noticed the mech looked tired and not the kind of tired that a good night's recharge fixed. His wings stretched some before folding back. "I wasn't thinking when I did it the first time," he explained. "It is counter-productive for everyone to have you on first or second shift when you'll be more comfortable on third or fourth. Might as well take a fourth shift mech and move them to second where they'll be at their best and put you on fourth where you'll be at your best."

Jazz blinked and didn't say anything. He'd never had anyone consider which shift he'd prefer. Sure, he was always the first to volunteer for third or fourth but he'd never had a CO consciously think of putting him in that position. "Uh…thanks," he said for lack of anything else. He looked down at the datpad reading through the change, still grunt work, but it was now fourth shift, not second.

Prowl led him up a deck. "I am sorry, I overlooked your Polyhexian heritage," he said in a soft voice that still cut through the ambient noise of the ship. Jazz shrugged trying discreetly to figure out where they were going. Blaster hadn't taken him down this hall the orn before.

"Nothin' special about being a Poly," he said trying not to come across as defensive. He worked solo so he didn't have to put up with all the Poor Stupid Poly slag he'd grown up with. He was a little more irritated than usual that Prowl had brought up his frame type. The Praxian didn't seem like the type to get hung up on that, but Jazz filed that away under Lessons Learned. No one liked Polys.

Prowl's head tilted a fraction to the side revealing the long lines of his neck. "I meant your unique physiological needs; such as preferring an overnight shift. And I often think the ship is too hot so it didn't occur to me that this is chilly environment for you." He sighed and rubbed the side of his head whatever had happened in the joors since Jazz had last seen him had done damage to him. Worst part about deep cover was he never fragging knew what was going on. Still, some of Jazz's bristling subsided while he tried to figure out what game Prowl was playing. He'd brought up the Poly thing for a reason. To alienate him? To remind him he was different? Some kind of blackmail? Jazz was ready for anything the mech could pull.

Prowl stopped at a door and didn't even touch the keypad but it opened for him. Jazz straightened in surprise and then looked all around the door searching for the motion sensor. "Red Alert," Prowl said with a smile in his tired voice.

That made Jazz's spark run cold. How much control did Red Alert have from the security room? How much could he see and hear? Jazz needed to get a security shift ASAP. Jazz forced a laugh that sounded brittle even to him. "Not often anymore you meet a mech that'll open a door for ya'." Prowl's optics sparkled with amethyst fire when he smiled. He looked up at a security camera and his optics flickered. Some of the tired lines on his face lifted and he smiled wider.

"But, the reason I brought you up here," Prowl said, stepping into the room. "If you'd like, I can assign this as your quarters so you don't have to spend your nights in the washracks." Jazz flinched back from that and barely resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at the camera. Primus be a glitch, Red Alert must have tracked him all night. Jazz looked around the small room to calm his spark. He hadn't done anything to arouse suspicion, there was nothing wrong with a Poly wanting to be in water.

The living quarters were identical to the room he had below. The berth pushed against the far wall, tiny desk, and three drawer dresser. But in the back of the room was another door. Jazz opened it and a small overhead light flicked on revealing a tiny washrack. Nothing expansive but it had a tub just big enough for a small Poly to curl up in. Jazz felt his fins from his head all the way down his back shoot straight up in delight. "Wait," he said looking back the nondescript room again. "Is this an officer's quarters?"

Prowl nodded. "Wheeljack's originally, but I don't think he knows where it is. If he doesn't recharge in the lab he goes to either Ratchet's quarters or the berth in the medbay." He stretched his wings again and his optics flashed. He tilted his head a little as if whatever message he was getting had some interference but most of his focus stayed on Jazz.

Jazz stared at him. Of all the scenarios he'd played out, Prowl giving him an officer's quarters so he'd be more comfortable hadn't registered. He looked back at the washrack and a ripple of giddiness roll through him. He could get off shift and come back and recharge in warm water and not worry about someone stumbling on him or waking him up. But he curbed his enthusiasm. He had a job to do and if he was going to do that job he had to blend in. "I dunno, you don't think every other mech and femme on this ship won't give me slag for being moved to an officer's quarters?" It took everything he had to wrench the words out. A Polyhexian without water was like a seeker without wings. And he'd been without a little watering hole to call his own for so long.

"No, the Twins are just down the hall in what was originally Blaster's quarters," Prowl said. His wings shimmered in the hall light like they'd been ruffled by a breeze. "Mechs and femmes change rooms all the time. I promise, it won't ostracize you," he said with a warm undercurrent of knowing.

Jazz nodded before he thought the decision all the way through and clamped down on his tongue. Rookie mistake. He'd been in the field too long to sacrifice a good position with the crew for comfort while he recharged. But…water. He felt tension bleed from him that he didn't know he'd been carrying.

Water.

And it was so easy to trust Prowl. There was something in his voice, in the warm surety of it that slid right past Jazz's cynicism. That sent a thrill of true fear through his spark. He couldn't _trust_ Prowl. Prowl would tear his throat out if he ever found out Jazz wasn't an Autobot. He didn't trust anyone, couldn't afford to trust anyone.

"The orn is yours then," Prowl said with a regal dip of his head. There was something about him, something that reminded Jazz of the ancient ruins he'd stumbled across in Simfur. Prowl felt so old. He could feel it in his struts, the age of the young mech in front of him. He couldn't be much older than Jazz but there was such deep stillness in and around him that forced anything around him to take on that stillness. And Jazz's body ached to be still. He'd taken time, that warm orn he'd almost forgotten about in Simfur, to sit in the sun on the ancient stones and look at the sky. He hadn't done anything like that in a long time.

It wasn't until after Jazz had all of his things resettled in his new quarters he thought of the word for what Prowl was.

Peace.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** Hello! I want to point out that I recently changed both the rating of this fic to M and added a warning, DeathFic.

But anywho, thank you for F/F/R/R!


	4. Chapter 4

Excitement hummed in the air like static before a lightning strike. From the rampant chatter Jazz picked up that they were approaching a colony for a quick stop. Confusion drove him to seek out Blaster who was beatboxing down the hall with his music loud enough to vibrate against Jazz's sensor net. "'Sup, Jazz-mech!" Blaster said over his music. Steeljaw wove around his feet and Jazz kept an optic on the feline so he wouldn't trip and break his neck.

"Hey Blaster, what's this rumor I hear about us havin' a stopover?" The last word was a little loud when Blaster abruptly turned down his music to a more tolerable level. Mechs and femmes streamed around them not paying attention to the noise. "Didn't we just resupply a couple septorns ago?" Jazz said in a normal voice. Blaster gave him a toothy grin.

"Ah yeah, we got plenty to keep us going." He winked at Jazz, "I'm sure if you want the official reason for the stopover Prowl's got a bulletproof one, but we all know it's just because he likes the place. An' come on, who's gonna complain and tell him we're supposed to be in deep space?"

Jazz blinked and followed Blaster through the crowd on their way to shift. "We…we're seriously stopping because Prowl likes the colony?" Blaster took one look at his face and fell into hysterics. Steeljaw grinned up at him and Jazz had to shake his head to get his face somewhat schooled. "That just…it doesn't seem a lil', I dunno, _overzealous_?"

Still giggling hard enough Jazz wanted to punch him Blaster said, "He does other things while he's there. He's not just stoppin' by to say hi. He an' Red go down and go over their defense and militia and get a feel for how everyone's doing." He sobered a little. "We do these little stops a lot, sometimes it's neat little places like this where we can go out and have a couple joors of shore leave, get some drinks and good food, you know, but other times it's just Prowl and Red that go down. Some of the colonies out here don't like anybody, not us, not Decepticons, and not Neutrals." He shrugged and his good mood bounced back. "But it'll be a few kels before we get to the cranky colonies, so best to enjoy this place. They've got some great food." Steeljaw made an enthusiastic sound of agreement.

Jazz left him to his music and instead wandered around the ship a little lost trying to figure out what Prowl was doing. None of the intelligence he'd gotten from Autobot movements had even hinted that the _Ark_ made frequent stops. Most assumed the Autobots kept hidden in deep space and only emerged when they needed to resupply and refuel. If it was true and the ship did make constant stops that would radically change how Decepticons searched for them.

 **oOo**

Rusted two-wheeled transports flew past him with two and three mechs riding on them, squeezed together like spark shards in a chamber. Red dust swirled in the air making him cough until his filters caught up. The red dust settled on everyone and everything, Blaster's flashy red and yellow paint was a pale orange in just a few breems. He didn't notice the coating and grinned as he took in the chaos. Horns created an unending cacophony as the transports zipped past each other in no order Jazz could identify. Two-wheeled transports towing small carts with mechs and femmes in them wove around each other, other carted transports were stacked more than a mech high with goods. One lumbered past and Jazz watched wide opticked as the mech standing on top of the heap tapped on a datpad. A larger transport like Jazz was used to seeing in cities sped by honking just like the smaller transports and weaving through the mess.

"This is glitched," he said a little high pitched. "What the frag?" Blaster laughed and grabbed his hand pulling him into the heart of the mess. Jazz dug his heels in when Blaster made like he was going to cross the street. "Mech, we'll die," he yelled over the sound of a horn. A two-wheeled transport swerved and bumped up on the sidewalk to bypass a slower moving tangle of traffic. The four femmes onboard continued chatting in a dialect Jazz didn't know. The driver wove around pedestrians before bumping down onto the road again. Half a dozen others followed the path.

Blaster kept his hand in a firm grip, "Just stay close, Jazz-mech," he laughed. "You'll only get hit if you slow down, gotta do like the locals." He dragged Jazz forward again. He waited until there was somewhat of a break in traffic before stepping off the curb. Jazz stared at the wall of rusting and wheezing transports and carts coming at them not blinking. Two hundred centicycles he'd been in the field and this was how he was going to die.

The transports honked and swerved around them without a sideward glance. They made it to the other side of the street and Jazz looked back at the mess they had just gone through and stared at Blaster. Blaster doubled over laughing and covered his face. "Ah mech, your fraggin' _face_!" He waved for Jazz to follow and, still laughing, headed down the street taking in everything.

"Love this place!" Blaster said as a two-wheeled transport went against the flow of traffic to get to a small food cart. "You hungry?" He knelt down to coax a stray cybercat to him and scratched along its skinny back. Jazz's tanks continued to heave from the mad dash across the street. "The food here in't fancy, but it's some of the best in the galaxy." He stood up when the small cybercat darted off and waved for Jazz to follow. Steeljaw ranged ahead, his mane snapping electricity as he galloped around pedestrians. Above, Eject chattered weaving lazily on the warm air currents.

Jazz kept every sensor he had on the highest alert he could tolerate. The sidewalk was hardly wide enough for him to put one foot in front of the other. On his right side traffic zipped by and on his left small store fronts loaded with goods pushed into what little space was left on the sidewalk. Store owners watched them pass with sharp optics but friendly smiles and Blaster stopped more than once to look at an odd knickknack. Jazz didn't see the appeal and didn't have the inclination to ask what the symbiont saw in the little pieces. The busy street had mechs and femmes pressing around them and Jazz was hard pressed to keep up his laid back façade with so many unknowns on the street.

He watched everyone who came within arm's length checking for weapons, reading their body language. Given how narrow the sidewalk was, everyone he checked was just trying to get by without getting clipped by a transport but it still kept him on high alert. Blaster didn't pay much attention to anyone, Steeljaw paused every few lengths and sniffed the air and greeted strays and ran under Blaster's feet like he didn't have a care in the world.

With only one sun instead of two like Cybertron the day wasn't as hot as the home planet could get but the humidity made it feel like Polyhex. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been anywhere with humidity. It felt good, his exoform felt less brittle and the warm breeze invited him to relax. Pots overflowing with lush plants with glossy dark green leaves and bright flowers were squeezed into crevices between buildings and on the sidewalk. On the other side of the road the jungle pressed in on the sidewalk; tamed just enough for Jazz to catch glimpses of simple homes and large herbivores he'd never seen before browsing on tethers. But still mechs and femmes passed him. He watched their faces closely looking to see if any of them were looking to cause trouble.

Ahead of him, Blaster ducked into what he thought was another small shop. When he caught up though he saw tables and chairs, most of them filled with locals chatting happily in their native language, and toward the back he saw the flash of an Autobot insignia. Potted plants made a nice shady barrier between the busy street and the small patio. Closer to the road a cart with made up plates of food was displayed. A femme gave him a bright smile and he smiled back to keep up appearances. Always glad his optics were hidden, he gave her a thorough once over. She was busy mixing a pot of boiling grains and leafy greens but bobbed her head and pointed to the back table where he'd seen the other two Autobots. Blaster dodged the busy tables and made it to the back corner and twirled a chair around and sat down with a loud laugh. He gave the femme another tight smile and went to join them.

The other two mechs at the table Jazz hadn't encountered, but with a crew of fifteen hundred he wasn't surprised. He _was_ surprised at the lack of armor. With arms and bare and only light armor on their chests and legs if not for the insignia on their chests they could have been confused for civilians. The taller of the two had his chair tilted back on two legs, his armor was probably white and blue, but with the red dust he was pinkish and blue. He didn't have a Polyhexian frame, but a visor covered his optics. It shimmered in the light, reflecting a kaleidoscope of colors every time he turned his head. Compared to Blaster's energy he looked and sounded like he was moving in slow motion. "'Sup, mech." He held out a hand for Blaster to slap and Steeljaw jumped into Blaster's lap to swat his palm. The pinkish mech laughed and Steeljaw leapt of Blaster's lap and darted out the door.

Jazz took an empty seat with his back to the wall of the building and kept watch on everyone eating. Aside from a few curious looks from a table of three juveniles no one paid them much attention. The two unknown mechs gave him easy smiles. The visored mech waved and Blaster introduced them. "Jazz-mech, this is Beachcomber," he said flipping a hand at the pinkish mech. "And this glitch is Groove."

"'Sup, mech," he said in a thick Kalisian accent. He had a Kalisian frame and the accent put him somewhere in the northwest of the province. His fins didn't pulse like Wheeljack's but stayed a steady soft blue. The bioluminescent lines along his neck and arms were dull from dust but he didn't seem to mind. "Feels good bein' off ship, mech. I missed the sun, feel?"

"Pit yeah, mech, nice to hear birds again," Beachcomber said. Eject landed on Blaster's shoulder and squawked at him, his feathers ruffling. Beachcomber grinned at him. "Aw, you know it's nice to hear other birds too, Eject." The small symbiont fluffed his feathers again and flew off Blaster's shoulder. Blaster rolled his optics but let his symbiont explore.

"You mechs find the beach yet?" he asked. Both sighed and shook their heads.

"Too far, mech, take us most of the orn to get there," Beachcomber said sadly. "Doubt we'd have time to take a still 'fore we'd have to head back, mech." He reached above his head to touch a wide dark green leaf.

Groove nodded and leaned back in his chair, a picture of relaxation. "But it'd be a great ride, we get one of those little transports like we did last time."

Beachcomber nodded. "Pit yeah, mech, that was a great ride, saw some cool animals."

"Stellar," Groove agreed.

Blaster stretched and said a quick word in the local dialect when the femme from the front started putting dishes on the table. Jazz blinked in surprise and straightened watching her with suspicion. A plate piled with grains and roots and leafy greens topped with a small portion of roasted meat was set in front of Jazz. Glasses filled with cool drinks rounded out the meal and the three Autobots smiled and said a quick word in the local dialect. The femme bobbed her head and moved to another table to start clearing dishes. The other three started eating still carrying on their conversation about their last trip to the beach.

Jazz scanned the plate in front of him and the drink but unless there was a physical object in the food his scans were mostly useless. It was hot and the drink was cold but that was all he picked up. "Who ordered this?" he asked interrupting the conversation. Blaster's mouth was full so he pointed a thumb at Groove. The Kalisian nodded and took a sip of his drink.

"Do you…do you know what it is or how it's made?" Jazz asked, starting to feel as paranoid as Red Alert. "She could've slipped something in it." Blaster gave him a quizzical look like the idea that someone might try to poison the Communications Officer for the Autobot army never occurred to him. Beachcomber and Groove also tilted their heads but their expressions were less animated than Blaster's.

"Why would someone do that?" Groove asked. He still ate another bite.

Jazz blinked once, twice. "Uh. We're in the middle of a war, someone doesn't like your insignia they might do something about it."

The Kalisian frowned and looked at Beachcomber, "Rude."

"Harsh," the mech agreed solemnly. But he shook his head, "But nah, mech, some of the colonies get a lil' mean, but when we get to them it's just Prowl an' Prime that visit. We get stuck shipside. This place ain't like that. The worst we get is ignored."

"This is a neutral colony?" Jazz asked, he still didn't trust the food, but if it was neutral he could pull back on his sensor net and save himself a processor ache.

Beachcomber shook his head, "Nah, mech, you not in the galaxies with the big colonies anymore," he said softly. "Mechs an' femmes out here don't care about Autobot, Decepticon, or Neutral. They're just trying to survive. Big ship like the _Ark_ comes in an' suddenly they've got fifteen hundred mechs and femmes with credits ready for some good food, drinks, and fun."

Jazz looked at the food again and at the three Autobots and around the restaurant, quieter now that it seemed the lunch rush was over. The femme pulled tables and chairs out of the way so a young mech could sweep under them. The corner of Blaster's mouth lifted in a surprisingly humorless smile. "You wanna know one of those ironclad reasons Prowl has for making all these little stops?" he asked, his voice not losing its easy cadence but the words were colder, sharper. "Economy, Jazz-mech. The _Ark_ makes a stop and these little places get a nice boost in sales and that makes life a little better for everyone. And when life gets easier, ya' tend to really like the mechs that make your life easier." He lifted his glass in cheers and in a flash Jazz saw the cold intelligence in his gaze. Jazz hadn't thought Blaster was any more than an excitable mech who'd been given the title of Communications Officer, but he saw it now, the razor sharp intelligence just beneath the loud music and lax attitude.

Prowl had seen it too. He'd seen it before anyone else. And if Ironhide's septornly tirades were any indication, Prowl was one of few who had ever looked deeper into Blaster and seen what he was capable of. Jazz swallowed, the humid air suddenly too close.

He'd been careless with Blaster because he'd thought the same as everyone else; that the mech was just bouncing through this war like a mechling with a new hologame. But he outwitted Soundwave almost daily, could hack Decepticon frequencies with the speed of a codebreaker, and kept the _entire_ Autobot communication network secure. The mech wasn't a youngling like First Aid no matter how he acted, he was just as smart as Soundwave. He just chose not to intimidate everyone with that intelligence.

Bringing himself back from his terrified thoughts he raised his glass to Blaster's and took a drink.

The mechs returned to their easy conversation as if Blaster hadn't just revealed what he kept hidden so well. Jazz half-listened but the conversation wasn't telling him anything important or interesting. He was much more concerned with backtracking over everything he'd ever said or done with Blaster since they met. He had shaky confidence that his routine was so ingrained he came across as genuine, but if Blaster was as smart as Soundwave he had to have picked up something. And Jazz had no idea if Blaster reported to Prowl or the Prime like Soundwave did with Megatron. He had no idea if Red Alert still had him under security or if Prowl had asked for everyone to watch him. Who better to watch a new transfer than the Communications Officer that everyone treated more like an excitable little brother than an officer.

Jazz took a bite of his now cold food and tried to find a way to tread water. He'd known getting into the _Ark_ the waters would be deep, but he was starting to realize just how deep it was. He watched Beachcomber and Groove with more care. The mechs still looked relaxed to the point of being in recharge and he didn't see any visible weapons. When he kicked on a subtle infrared scanner though he saw they both had hidden blades and small blasters. They might not be wearing heavy armor like Jazz, but they weren't stupid enough to walk around completely helpless.

He couldn't remember the rest of lunch. At some point he finished his food and then the other three were standing, laughing about something. He stood with them still moving like he was in a dream. The Kalisian, Groove, walked with the long awkward gait most Kalisians had when they were on the ground. But despite his relaxed attitude and slow speech patterns he was formidable when he stood. Scars crisscrossed his narrow shoulders and his long legs had their share of burn scars and ugly puckered lines from deep blade strikes. He wasn't a lightweight, Jazz was willing to bet he was lightning quick both with his hidden knives and the natural blades Kalisians had on their hands, feet, arms, and legs.

Beachcomber slouched along next to Blaster, even though he was the tallest, he moved the slowest. With his visor it was impossible to see what exactly the mech was looking at, but his head was always in constant motion. Nothing blatant, just a slow roll from left to right. Panning. Watching. Dangerous, no matter his attitude or how he walked. A scar ran across the back of his neck, had probably come close to killing him. His bare arms were littered with even more scars from blades and burns.

In all the time Jazz had spent among Autobots he had never had to watch them closely. They wore their bleeding sparks on their armor and were as transparent as glass. Cold realization that his lax attitude about watching his new crew mates could have sent him straight to the smelter made his tanks slosh. They didn't yell or growl or threaten like the mechs on the _Nemesis_ but the _Ark_ was Optimus' flagship. The mechs onboard were the best of the best, the meanest of the meanest, and the smartest of the smartest. They may have all outward appearances of the happy-go-lucky attitude of the rest of the Autobot forces, but they were vicious when it counted.

He also realized that for him to be accepted into the _Ark,_ someone had seen in him that same vicious intelligence.

 **oOo**

The traffic was unabated. Transports zipped past, horns honking as drivers swerved and avoided collisions by a handspan and less. Beachcomber, Groove, and Blaster walked ahead of him in no hurry. Beachcomber kept his head tilted up to the sun like he ran on photosynthesis. Jazz still watched the people that passed but without the hostility of before. The three mechs ahead of him were more a danger to him than any civilian.

If possible, the road became even more crowded and more mechs filled the sidewalk. Mechs and femmes walked by with bags or produce, or younglings in tow who looked at the three soldiers with wide curious optics. The adults hardly spared them a glance as they went about their daily lives. Beachcomber was distracted by a small shop—more like a tent over part of the sidewalk—selling potted plants. He picked up a tiny pot with shiny dark green foliage.

"Where're you gonna put it?" Blaster asked skeptically. "Don't you have, like, a hundred plants already?"

"Not for me, mech," Beachcomber said putting the plant down and picking up another that looked like it had thorns on it. "I owe Hound," he said turning the plant to and fro. "For that bet last kel, you remember."

Blaster laughed and looked closer at the plants. "He told you he wanted a flower?" He snickered again. "Nothin' with thorns," he said flicking the leaf of the plant Beachcomber was holding.

Groove nodded and Beachcomber set the plant down before picking up a delicate looking fern. "Here we go, mechs," he said. "Said he liked that Gilded Fern I got. Can't remember where I picked it up, but this is pretty close to it." Jazz watched the transaction with his head tilted almost all the way to the side. Beachcomber paid and tucked the plant carefully in a bag he pulled out of a compartment on his hip.

"Why?" Jazz said as they started walking again. Groove dropped back next to him while Blaster and Beachcomber laughed about whatever had happened with Hound and the bet.

"Pretty, mech," Groove said reaching out to touch a plant they passed. "E'ryone gets tired of lookin' at walls, right, mech? So get some plants, couple'a growing lights and Bam. No more boring walls." He eyed a small stand that looked like it was selling fruit drinks but didn't stop. Jazz hadn't considered it. Although, he found staring at walls very interesting, especially if they had structural weakness or indicated an easy place for breaching and boarding. Groove didn't need to know that.

"Do you have a plant?" Jazz asked without feigned curiosity. Planetside and colonyside he'd seen higher ups with the occasional potted plant in their office but he'd never paid much attention onboard ships.

Groove nodded, nothing about him ever in a particular hurry. "Yeah, mech. Most of us got one or two. Me and Beach prolly got the most. Seaspray's got a lot, too. Prowl's got a couple from Praxus that're just outta sight. Prettiest things ever. Hope I get to see Praxus one orn." He lifted his head and called Beachcomber's name. "What's that pretty red flower Prowl's got?" he asked when the big mech turned.

Beachcomber waited for Groove to catch up and put an arm around his shoulder. With the height difference, it was easier for Groove to put an arm around Beachcomber's waist. "Uh…I don't remember the Praxian word for it," he said glancing in the bag at the little fern. "But it translates to something like Love's Last Gift or somethin'."

"Deep."

Blaster dropped back next to Jazz as the sidewalk widened enough they could actually walk next to each other and not in staggered line. The street became almost standstill traffic. Carts filled with food or small knickknacks and supplies lined the road. Mechs and femmes shouted their wares over the sound of engines rumbling and idling, younglings dodged through the traffic laughing and screaming as they played and adults bartered for deals. Fresh fruit, vegetables were set out at small stands. He caught the unmistakable tang of fresh meat and wrinkled his nose a little. Fabric, cooking dishes, utensils, paint, and polish all sat out on small blankets or on carts and stalls for mechs and femmes to peruse. It was nothing like Jazz had seen before. "What is this?" he asked Blaster over the din of noise.

"Central Market," Blaster said, his loud voice easily rising over the crowd. "Prowl's somewhere around here."

"But what is it?" Jazz asked and then added. "And why are we lookin' for Prowl?"

Blaster held up his arm for Eject to land on and Steeljaw raced past them, galloping and dodging around feet just as nimble as the younglings running in and out of the crowd. "It's the market," he said watching Jazz's face with a questioning expression of his own. "Mechs and femmes here don't really shop at malls like they do in Iacon or the big colonies. You need something, you come to the market." Understanding hit Jazz and he looked around again at all the things for sale. Pretty much everything that could be found in one of the towering malls on Iacon or the other colonies he'd been was on display in the crowded space. Blaster smiled as he looked around. "Personally, I like it better than those stuffy malls. Get to be outside, and if you don't like the price you can talk 'em down or find someone else. And we're lookin' for Prowl so we can find Ratchet." He twisted his head around a second before Jazz spotted the flash of silver. The femme turned the pan again causing another flash of silver and Blaster continued scanning the crowd.

They wove through the haphazard lines of stalls and carts and small tents in no hurry but always watching for the distinctive silver of Prowl's wings. Through the crowd, Jazz caught Groove and Beachcomber looking at more plants. "Hey Blaster," he asked as they passed a stand selling pots and seeds. "You have any plants?"

Blaster nodded. "I only have two. Steeljaw likes to chew on them so only the really hardy ones last." He rolled his optics and his head turned abruptly. "Speaking of the pain in the aft," he said happily. "C'mon, we found Prowl." Given how thick the crowd was, Jazz didn't think they'd make it to Prowl any time soon, but once Blaster had a destination he was just as fast as Steeljaw ducking and weaving through mechs and femmes. Jazz's smaller frame made it easier for him but he still had to employ a little skill to keep up with the quick mech.

He saw Prowl's wings first. On the ship, they were shimmering silver, in the sun they were like liquid that not even the red dust could diminish. His armor under the unforgiving fluorescents of the ship was shades of grey. In sunlight and dust it was aged silver and slate, the pale highlights soft pink with the dust instead of white. There was more space around him, whether because of his wings or Red Alert's imposing presence was hard to tell. Red Alert's dull grey and red armor had the same transformation. What was uniform lead grey on the ship was brighter in the sunlight, more like stone and the red was darker. It was a nice contrast for him, nothing flagrant like Blaster's loud red and yellow, but bold and strong. Jazz found he agreed with the mech's understated taste.

Prowl paid for a small bunch of fruit Jazz had never seen before and handed one piece to Bluestreak. The sparkling's tiny hands held the fruit like it was a puzzle box and his wide optics examined it from every angle. Prowl showed him how to pull the green top off and eat it. Jazz caught himself smiling a little as the sparkling tested the taste of the new fruit and then happily devoured it and grabbed for another. The sparkling's scars were even more startling in the sunlight. He caught more than one Cybertronian looking twice at the tiny mech's silver and pearl white scars.

Jazz's smile was gone a second later when he became very aware of Red Alert's stare boring into him. It was like a magnetic pulse slamming into him. He looked away from Prowl and found the imposing mech staring straight at him. Nothing about the crowd mattered, there could have been a wall between them and he still would have felt that cold stare. How much had he let slip while he was still blissfully unaware of how dangerous Blaster was? He had no idea how much of the suspicion was from the glitch he supposedly had and how much from his own careless stupidity. He tried not to hide from the stare or shrink from it, but he'd had warmer welcomes from Megatron.

"Hello Blaster, Jazz," Prowl said without turning around when they were close. Bluestreak looked over his shoulder and squeaked at them. Blaster rubbed Bluestreak's cheek with a bright smile on his face. Bluestreak's tiny wings fluttered, the left one with its prosthetic, moving a little slower than the other.

"Hey'ah Prowl, you know where Ratchet is? What's that?" Blaster got closer—Jazz thought—crowding Prowl's wings to see the fruit better. Prowl's wing shifted and spread a bit more against Blaster's back so it wasn't trapped between them. Prowl handed him one and Blaster looked at it in much the same way Bluestreak had. "It's fuzzy, why's it fuzzy? Is it supposed to be fuzzy? What is it?" Bluestreak squeaked and grabbed another one from the bunch and commanded Blaster's attention so he could show him how to pull to top off and eat it.

Blaster giggled and did as Bluestreak showed him, popping the fruit into his mouth. "Oh hey, this is good, but why's it fuzzy?"

"Because it is," Prowl answered. "And Ratchet is at the local hospital lending his expertise, why?"

Blaster took another fruit and gave half to Eject. "Because we're takin' him to dinner tonight," he said with a cheeky smile. "Sideswipe owes him for that last prank." Prowl's mouth kicked up in a smile and he shifted his hold on Bluestreak when the mechling tried to climb over his shoulder to see a colorful display of fabrics better. Without a word Red Alert reached out and pulled the sparkling out of Prowl's arms. Prowl gave him a look over his shoulder that was so quick Jazz couldn't readily identify it. Bluestreak chattered his gibberish as he looked at everyone and everything. "You wanna come?" Blaster asked, tickling Bluestreak's wings until the sparkling squeaked and swatted at his fingers.

"Not this time," Prowl said. "I have other things I must attend to. Will you remind Sideswipe he's to be _on_ the ship at 2800, not enroute."

Blaster rolled his optics. "I can tell 'em, not sure what you think that'll do, though."

"Anyone not onboard by 2800 will be subjected to full security verification," Prowl said looking at a stand selling text chips. Blaster's optics popped wide and he shot a look at Red Alert. The dark mech paid him no attention as he watched the bustling market. Blaster's laugh was louder than the noise of the market.

"Primus, let me set my chronometer, what time you got, Red?" He slipped his hand into Jazz's, startling him so bad he bumped into a mech. "C'mon, Jazz-mech, we gotta have our fun while we can! Bye Prowl," he yelled pulling Jazz back into the crowd. Prowl's dark optics were like rare precious stones when he looked back and watched Blaster drag Jazz through the crowd. Bluestreak gave their hurried exit a quizzical look and an uncertain wave goodbye. Eject dipped down and chirped at him before taking to the air again. And then the crowd closed and Jazz couldn't see the trio anymore.

 **oOo**

Jazz wouldn't have found the hospital even if he'd had a map. He was picturing the massive multi-story complexes that spanned city blocks. Their exteriors shining with new metal and stone, polished to a scintillating gleam. He imagined there'd be a parking lot the size of a city park, mechs and femmes constantly coming and going through the doors, and signs to direct mechs to the proper wing of the hospital.

What he found was a dusty one story building that looked like it had started its life as a school and been abandoned for a vorn or two before being repurposed. He stood on the dusty road staring at the faded paint and sagging façade. The sign was new, but it was in the local dialect so he could only assume it said "Hospital" and not something else. There were a few two-wheeled transports parked off the road but the doorway was dark and empty. "This?" he said.

Blaster nodded and waltzed up to the dark door. Calling a greeting in the native language he walked in with Jazz following a few steps behind. Inside was cleaner and better put together than the exterior tipped off. The walls were scuffed and in need of paint, but the floor was swept clean and the large windows let sunlight pour in giving the reception a cheery if faded feel. The mech working the front desk smiled and said a few words and when Blaster answered he picked out Ratchet's name but that was all. The mech nodded and pointed down the hall with a few more words.

"C'mon, Jazz-mech," Blaster said going down the hall. Steeljaw trotted at his side like a well behaved pet. They passed small exam rooms that had only the most basic equipment and most of it was so old Jazz couldn't even guess what it was used for. In one of the rooms Wheeljack had a sleeve of tools on one of the tables while he tinkered with one of ancient machines. Blaster glanced at him but the engineer had an intense look of concentration on his face and they continued by without interrupting.

"Is the medic in?" Blaster asked knocking on the doorframe two doors down before poking his head in.

"Repeat glitches will be your most trying patients," Ratchet said as Jazz came up next to Blaster. In the room two young medics smiled as they listened. First Aid sat on the exam table with a tiny wrench in his hand. Jazz stayed mostly in the hall. It still took conscious thought for him to meet the Ahnkmorian's optics instead of ducking his head and flattening his fins. He wasn't ready to be in a small room with the medic. Ratchet lifted an optic ridge. "Yes?" With the room lit mostly by sunlight instead of sterile overhead lights, the scars on his face shone like polished nickel. His arms were covered and Jazz was a little disappointed he couldn't see what the graceful script cut into his exoform looked like in the natural light.

"Sideswipe said he owes you dinner, we're goin' to the night market. And Prowl said anyone not shipside by 2800 has to go through Red." Blaster said, seemingly immune to the force of Ratchet's presence. Steeljaw hopped up on the exam table next to First Aid. The youngling gave him a happy smile and picked up a scanner far too big for his little hands and scanned the lion. He looked at the readings, his tiny cephalic fins coming up as he tilted his head to and fro.

"Your pulse is escalated," he told the lion. Steeljaw chuffed and flicked his tail.

"Elevated," Ratchet said, one hand stroking the top of the youngling's head.

"Elevated," First Aid echoed. He stared at the screen like he wasn't certain what else he needed to do with the information. It was easier to focus on the little youngling than it was the almost physical weight Ratchet's presence exerted. First Aid lifted his head into Ratchet's hand and set the scanner aside in favor of checking Steeljaw's optics by waving the wrench back and forth in front of the lion's face.

"And Sideswipe will have to pay up another time. I'll be here for the evening." He looked down at the youngling who asked Steeljaw to open his mouth so he could inspect his teeth. Ratchet watched him for a second, a fond smile tugging one corner of his mouth. "First Aid wouldn't mind seeing more of the colony." First Aid's little fins flickered when he heard his name but his concentration was now on examining Steeljaw's paws.

Blaster grinned. "Always a good idea to have a medic on standby when this crew hits the town," he laughed. "C'mon, Aid. I'm certain Sunny an' Sides have gotten into one or two scraps by now." Ratchet sighed, a long and exasperated sound. The other two medics were hiding their laughs behind their hands as they watched the exchange.

The youngling looked up, his little fins going straight up and Blaster lifted him off the exam table and tossed him in the air. First Aid's peals of delighted laughter made Blaster laugh too. "Make sure they behave," Ratchet said stroking First Aid's cheek when Blaster had him securely in his arms.

"Story?" First Aid asked quietly, his tiny wrench held securely in both hands.

"Yes, I'll tell you a story before you recharge," Ratchet said. The fierce Ahnkmorian softened for the barest second before he was all business once more. Happy with the promise First Aid squirmed to be put down so he could race after Steeljaw down the hall. Ratchet returned to whatever lesson he was giving and Blaster jogged out after the youngling.

First Aid ran into the room Wheeljack was working in. Wheeljack's cheerful greeting carried down the hall and Jazz poked his head in to see what the youngling was doing. Wheeljack held him securely on his hip while he reconnected some wires and then closed the panel. Flipping a switch he tilted his head to hear the machine better as it came to life with a low rumble. "Excellent," Wheeljack said with a triumphant smile. "I am a genius." Blaster and Steeljaw both rolled their optics. First Aid handed Wheeljack the tiny wrench. "Ah, is your shift over already?" Wheeljack asked nuzzling First Aid's head.

"We're goin' around town for a bit an' then getting' dinner, you comin'?" Blaster asked.

Wheeljack shook his head. "Not tonight, I've got some other things to get to." He gave First Aid a quick kiss and set him on the floor. "I'll be back before your recharge," he promised the youngling.

"Ratchet is telling me a story," the youngling said gravely.

Wheeljack knelt in front of First Aid and pressed their foreheads together. "I will remind him," he said. "Now, go have fun. I'm certain Bumblebee is causing chaos somewhere." Wheeljack stood and stretched his long arms. First Aid scampered out of the room with Steeljaw keeping pace beside him and Blaster left with a quick farewell.

 **oOo**

Steeljaw stuck close to First Aid, but the youngling didn't stray more than a step from Blaster. Blaster didn't duck and weave through the crowd like he had been and did his best to avoid the thick throngs of mechs for which Jazz was thankful. Eject soared ahead of them just out of reach occasionally cawing or squawking at Blaster. Jazz watched First Aid more than he did where he was going. Since coming aboard, this was the longest he'd been in the presence of any of the young mechs. It was actually the longest he'd been in the presence of any mech younger than a new recruit. First Aid and Blaster had the same wide opticked curiosity as they looked at every odd thing in the shops and investigated the tropical plants.

Jazz assumed they were moving to the city center as the sagging two story buildings reached four and five floors. The road abruptly changed from pockmarked red dirt to smooth pavement the same time the sidewalk became more than a worn groove on the shoulder. Uniform squares of smooth stone stretched wide enough for three mechs to walk abreast. The shops displayed wares behind sheets of glass in a way more familiar to Jazz. He finally felt like he understood some of what he was seeing. Still, potted plants kept the jungle close. The red dust from the road behind them continued to blow in but the coating it left was much thinner. Some of the dust coating Blaster started to come off and his flashy paint began to show.

"Blaster," Jazz asked while First Aid was distracted looking at a pretty yellow flower with Eject and Steeljaw. "How'd First Aid get his name? Seems really…I don't know, convenient that a lil' mech who spends all his time in the med bay is called First Aid."

Blaster laughed, his optics sparkling like sapphires in the sunlight. "Well, it wasn't supposed to be his name," he said. He watched the little youngling try to coax a stray cybercat to him. "See, we got Aid from Centari Alpha and that place was…it was messed up," he said losing some of his humor. "Really messed up," he shook his head a little to get back on track. "But when we picked him up, he was _so_ sick. Ratchet had to get in touch with other medics back in Iacon and all over. We definitely don't want the 'cons knowing we've got them so we used a codename. Any time Ratchet had to talk to someone, they'd set it up like they were talking about field first aid supplies." He shrugged. "And it just kinda stuck. We weren't going to keep him on the ship, so none of us thought to give him a hard and fast name. He was either First Aid or Lil' Mech, y'know, 'cause he was going to go somewhere and have a real home one orn." He laughed.

"Didn't he have a sparking certificate?" Jazz asked. He well understood codenames and something innocuous and mundane as first aid supplies wouldn't have caught even Soundwave's attention.

First Aid finally convinced the cybercat to come close enough to pet. The youngling's joy was palpable. He gave Blaster and Jazz a bright opticked look of amazement and very carefully scratched the skinny cybercat's back. Blaster smiled at the youngling but his voice was serious. "That's the thing, Jazz-mech. Centari Alpha was…something went wrong there. Like, more than failure of life support systems. Somethin' went wrong there before that happened. We didn't find anything anywhere. Hospitals, schools, transport stations, immigration. All blank. Nothin'." Jazz rocked back on his feet a little when he heard that. Nowhere in anything he'd ever read or heard had that rather significant fact come up. Blaster shook his head as if he was shaking off the memory. "We don't know anything about First Aid 'cept where he was when we found him." He shrugged and his good mood bounced back. "Ratchet tried a couple of times to give him a different name, but First Aid might be small an' cute, but I swear to Primus he's more stubborn than Ratchet when he wants to be. He's decided his name is First Aid an' he won't answer to anything else." The cybercat rolled over onto its side and First Aid's tiny hand gently stroked its side still practically vibrated with excitement.

"Blaster-mech!" An unfamiliar voice shouted. Steeljaw kept close to First Aid but Blaster turned to search for the speaker. A pack of mechs, not quite in military formation, came at them at a leisurely stroll from several shops down. In the lead of the roughly triangular formation was one of the mechs on the security team, Streetwise. Jazz hadn't spoken to him, but he always liked to know everyone involved in security. He was the youngest mech on the team, but given who Red Alert was, Jazz remained wary of the young mech. Streetwise's normally immaculate white and red armor was just as streaky with dust as everyone else's.

Flanking him were two femmes, one the dark pink and blue femme he'd learned was Arcee, and the other a spring and mint green femme he hadn't met before. Behind them—many steps behind them—were Beachcomber and Groove with a happily chattering Bluestreak. Jazz blinked in surprise seeing the sparkling on Beachcomber's hip. "'Sup!" Blaster said. "C'mon Aid," he said softer. The youngling gave the cybercat one last fond pat and then skipped over to take Blaster's outstretched hand. Blaster grinned down at him, his optics sparking like blue fire as the late afternoon sun reflected off his face. Jazz followed Blaster and First Aid a few steps behind so he could evaluate Streetwise and the yet unknown femme.

The green femme divided her time between talking to Arcee and yelling over her shoulder and Beachcomber and Groove. Her laugh was just as loud and free as Blaster's and he couldn't believe he hadn't at least heard her. His optics narrowed behind his visor when they were closer. Her voice signature was unique, light and lilting like a bird song. She and Blaster jumped into a loud conversation about another mech he didn't know. No, he didn't believe for a moment he had overlooked her. She hadn't been onboard the _Ark_ at least since he had boarded.

Streetwise rolled his optics as Blaster and the femme tried to drag him into the conversation but there was a smile on his face. He hadn't yet acquired the hard set expression of most security mechs. Jazz was guessing under Red Alert's tutelage that would change quickly. His spark shuddered just thinking about the grey and red mech. Still, he gave the group a friendly smile when he caught up to Blaster.

"Hi, Jazz, right?" Streetwise asked with bright open optics. "I'm Streetwise. I'm on the security team."

Jazz flashed him a smile. "Security knows my name already, that ain't good," he said it as a joke but the truth of the words made his tanks roll.

Streetwise laughed at that. "Off duty, promise."

The green femme pushed his head forward playfully. "When's the last time you were off duty?" she asked, bright optics flashing. Blaster laughed and put Streetwise in a headlock knuckling the top of his head. Streetwise squirmed loose and darted away from the two to take refuge behind Beachcomber and Groove. Bluestreak chirped at him inquiringly. The femme made a fake charge for him and he ran a few steps further down the street. "Anyway, Blades said he found a _legitimate_ fight. Wants us to go with him," she said to Blaster once she was done harassing Streetwise. Blaster glanced down at First Aid and then at Bluestreak, unfamiliar seriousness in his optics.

"Moonracer, we're not taking First Aid and Bluestreak to a fight." The words were soft, but there was an underlying note of authority Jazz had never heard from the young mech before. Moonracer shrugged and didn't argue the point further.

"That's what I told him, but he told me to at least _ask_. And now I've asked, so, you wanna go see one of the temples?" She directed her question at First Aid who was watching the conversation with bright quick optics.

First Aid thought about the question longer than Jazz thought a youngling would. When he looked at Blaster his small face was conflicted. "Is it far?" he asked.

Blaster hoisted the youngling into his arms so they were optic level. There was still a smile on his face but his voice was gentle. "I promise, I'll have you back to the ship in time for Ratchet to tell you a story. So, you wanna go look around at the temple an' then we'll grab some dinner."

First Aid considered that for an extra second and then gave a short affirmative nod. A smile twitched Jazz's lips as he recognized the curt gesture as one Ratchet used frequently. Moonracer's optics lit with laughter when she saw it too. Depositing First Aid back on the ground Blaster yelled at Streetwise to lead the way to the temple. With a smartly sarcastic salute the young mech did an aboutface and started marching down the sidewalk. Beachcomber and Groove laughed and started following at their languid pace. Moonracer and Blaster both flipped him rude gestures and laughed.

Jazz hadn't been to any religious structure since he was First Aid's age. As far as he was concerned every temple looked about the same just with different color schemes. First Aid seemed to be excited by it though and while he kept his hand in Blaster's he skipped a little as he walked with a bright smile on his face as he looked around the city. Jazz fell in behind them watching the femme wondering where she'd been and how much trouble she'd been causing for Megatron.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** I have no idea why I made Beachcomber tall in this. I tried to rewrite it with him as a minibot and it just didn't sit right with me, so, tall he shall be.

This chapter is heavily influenced by my time in Cambodia. I absolutely love Phnom Penh, if you ever have a chance to visit the city, please do. Given everything the people of Cambodia have been through they still have the strength to be kind and generous.

Thank you for R/R/F/F!


	5. Chapter 5

The temple was nothing like Jazz pictured. The pyramid shaped Temples of Primus that adorned Polyhex and everywhere else were always easy to spot with their peaked roofs and spires topped by glittering diamonds and silver. They dominated the landscape where they were built, all lines and angles pointing straight up. Even when he was little he'd felt like he was being judged just standing in the shadow of the things.

But here, tucked away from the busy street in an oasis of thick old trees, manicured grass, and flowers running rampant were statues of mismatched beasts. Creatures with marsh lion heads and chests and eagle hind legs sat guarding sweeping steps that lead to a squat rectangular temple. The temple was half swallowed by the leafy trees, peeking out of the dark foliage were bright splashes of red, gold, and blue paint. The statues themselves were taller than Jazz, add in the height of the short pedestal each sat on and they were a sight to behold. Dotting the stairs, like escorts, were smaller statues of the same lion/eagle hybrids with fearsome expressions.

Moonracer set Bluestreak on the ground when he squirmed to be put down. The sparkling toddled over to one of the large statues and put his tiny hands against looking up with wide optics. First Aid even left Blaster's side to see the statues. "What?" Bluestreak squeaked. He thumped his hands against the stone lion/eagle's leg and looked at the adult mechs. Jazz thought that was an excellent summary to all of his questions.

Streetwise patted the statue's head like he would a pet. "They're called Nalana," he told the two small mechs. "They keep monsters away." Bluestreak clicked and looked up at the Nalana and then crawled up some of the steps to see one of the little ones.

"P'owl?" he asked the small snarling Nalana. He got to his feet, a little unsteady, and peered at it closely, his tiny wings flared out for balance. Streetwise went up the steps and crouched next to him keeping one arm behind the sparkling.

Streetwise smiled and nodded. "Yes, they keep the monsters away just like Prowl."

Jazz looked up the steps at the temple. He didn't feel intimidated like he did with the Temples of Primus. The lines were still severe but the temple was surrounded by trees and flowers. The sweet smoky smell of incense came and went with the breeze. First Aid and Steeljaw raced up the steps to the temple proper and paused when they reached the second set of large Nalana guarding the entrance. Moonracer followed, her steps quick and utterly silent even on the stone stairs. She was up at the top with the youngling and Steeljaw in seconds. The femme kept First Aid from running straight into the hushed temple and showed him how to bow respectfully before entering.

"This isn't a Primus temple," Jazz said unnecessarily. Arcee was next to him, with Beachcomber and Groove taking a small side path to circle around to the back. He and Arcee moved just as slow as the other two frontliners as they climbed the steps behind Streetwise and Blaster who were each holding one of Bluestreak's hands helping him go up the stairs. The sparkling chattered gibberish and looked at everything but his feet, his tiny wings flicking back and forth so fast they almost buzzed.

Arcee took a deep breath of the foliage and incense flavored air and let it out in a gusty sigh. "Nope. Primus isn't real big here. This is a lesser religion from the Iacon-Kalis border. I don't even think it's still practiced on Homeworld, but it's the primary belief here." Closer to the temple the splashes of color Jazz had glimpsed between the leafy trees became a mural of three Cybertronians offering a clearly superior being baskets of goods.

Heavily stylized, he thought he picked out fruits and animals, precious gems, and weapons. "Pretty," he said offhand. "So if it's not Primus, what is it?"

"The First," Arcee said stroking the gaping jaw of a Nalana as she passed. Bluestreak stopped and stared at the bright mural for a few seconds. She crouched down and tickled Bluestreak's sides until he squealed and pulled him close. "I don't know much about it, only what I've picked up from here and other places, but The First transcended…um, everything. Like, she no longer feared other mortals or death because she realized that we are infinite, you know?" Arcee kept a hold of Bluestreak when the sparkling made like he wanted to touch the mural. "She no longer wanted or needed material things, she became, I guess, like Primus, she became one with the fiber of the universe." She waved a hand at the mural. "And after she figured it out she helped others find their path to oneness, so these are the first three who asked her for help. They're setting aside those things that we all worry about; wealth, hunger, and fear."

Jazz made a noncommittal sound. The picture was still pretty, but he didn't care all that much for the background story. Bluestreak looked in the doorway for a second before hiding shyly by Blaster's leg and squeaking. Blaster led him around to the back of the temple. Jazz wandered over to see what had spooked the sparkling and saw several Cybertronians in the process of praying. Inside, more murals covered the walls and ceiling in jewel bright colors in the same style as the outside one. In the center of the room statues of—what he assumed to be—The First were arranged in a pyramid shape. Statues of polished dark wood sat at the bottom with small bowls of incense and offerings at their feet. The next level had statues of gold and bronze adorned with gems and highest among them was a statue of glittering quartz with diamonds and rubies pressed into it along its forehead and down its chest. Jazz almost asked out loud if The First gave up everything in life, why did she need such expensive looking statues. He bit the comment back and ducked out of the doorway.

He strolled around the temple and pushed away what Arcee had told him and just looked at the art. More fearsome half beast and half Cybertronian creatures decorated the eaves. He thought they looked vaguely seeker-like, but that could have just been the wings. He couldn't imagine any other frame having wings. He liked the bright colors, too. Primus temples didn't use much color, mostly gold and silver and sometimes blue, but this temple hadn't spared any color on the palette. As he circled the temple he thought he detected a story in the murals he passed but he couldn't figure out where it began or ended.

Coming back around to the front he saw Moonracer and Arcee with First Aid at the bottom of the stairs and Streetwise on his way down to meet them. Taking the narrow steps two at a time he reached the bottom two steps behind Streetwise. Beachcomber and Groove meandered over to them taking detours to look at flowers and other smaller statues almost covered by the foliage.

"You two see Blaster and Blue?" Streetwise asked the slow moving frontliners. Both shook their heads.

To his surprise, Beachcomber sent a comm. to Blaster. _Blaster-mech, you ready for chow?_

 _Blue's a lil' overwhelmed, be there in a few._ Blaster answered on the same channel. Streetwise frowned and concern clouded Moonracer's bright optics as well.

"They were heading around the back when I saw them last," Arcee said with a frown to match Streetwise's. Beachcomber and Groove nodded not seeming as perturbed by Blaster's report as the others. Still, they started their slow—slow—amble in the direction Bluestreak and Blaster had gone in.

 _We need to wait for Prowl?_ Streetwise asked with only a fleeting glance at the two strolling away with all the speed of tectonic plates. Jazz canted his head wondering where and what Prowl was doing that he could just up and leave. Blaster had said he and Red Alert were talking with the militia or the colony leaders. That didn't seem like a meeting he could just leave to come pick up a sparkling.

Moonracer scooped up First Aid and started walking with Arcee down the flagstone path that circled around to the back. _I have First Aid, will he be okay with a friend?_ The femme asked, her steps slow and not putting too much distance between her and the group. Even so, she almost overtook Groove and Beachcomber before Blaster answered.

 _Yeah, he said he wouldn't mind seein' Aid._ Blaster said after a moment. _Prowl is emergency only, I got this._ He added to answer Streetwise's question. Streetwise nodded and started a very slow stroll, more like Beachcomber and Groove, in the same direction as the others. Jazz fell in step with him since he didn't have much else to do.

"That all made sense to you?" he asked the young mech. As part of the security team he might know where Prowl was and what he was up to. If he did know, getting that information was going to take finesse and Jazz was just the mech for the challenge.

Streetwise gave him a brief crooked smile tinged with sadness. "Bluestreak gets overwhelmed sometimes by new things," he said softly. "The damage his processor took…he can't handle lots of new things. I actually thought this would happen earlier. He'll be okay, he just needs to sit for a few breems."

Jazz blinked and looked ahead at the curve in the path where Blaster and Moonracer were sitting in a patch of evening sunlight. Arcee stood further back looking very much like a sentinel. First Aid was sprawled out on the grass staring up at the trees, the high pitch of his young voice just brushed Jazz's sensor net but he couldn't make out words. "So Prowl helps calm him down?" Jazz asked with just a touch of disbelief Streetwise could apply to any part of the conversation. "How's he…I mean, how far away is he? If Bluestreak gets really freaked out what are we supposed to do?"

"No worries, Jazz-mech," Groove said. "Blue just needs a breem to process what he's seen, he's not headin' for an emotional breakdown or anythin." Streetwise nodded and didn't bother answer Jazz's question himself.

Shaking off the irritation from Groove's interjection, Jazz thought of a new way to lead the conversation. He gave Streetwise a wry smile. "Sorry, never spent much time around sparklings. I was just thinkin' about when I was little, I always glitched a bit when my creator got too far from me."

They stopped on the path while Groove and Beachcomber walked over to Moonracer and Blaster. Blaster sat with his legs crossed and his arms wrapped around Bluestreak. The sparkling squeaked and chirped and twittered but less with the excitement he'd had earlier and now with an edge of fear. The sound distracted Jazz enough he had to ask Streetwise to repeat his answer.

Streetwise gave him a knowing smile and nodded at Bluestreak. "A few vorns ago, yeah, he wouldn't let Prowl out of his optic line. He's gotten a lot braver or maybe, more secure? I don't know what to call it, but he's so much better than he was. Those first few vorns were rough." The smile fell from his face. "He was so scared."

Bluestreak hazarded sticking his head out from between Blaster's arms and squeaked at First Aid and then at Groove who sat down so fast Jazz thought he'd collapsed. Blaster's gentle hand stroked the top of his head and the side of his neck. "You feelin' better Blue?" he murmured not paying attention to the audience. Moonracer cooed at the sparkling and Bluestreak chirped, wriggling more of his body loose from Blaster's protective embrace.

Jazz figured one of them would try to coax the sparkling out with the promise of dinner, but none of them said much to the tiny mechling. Their conversations roamed from gossip to discussion about a new holovid to arguing over hologames. Jazz kept half an audio on the inane conversation and an optic on the sparkling who seemed to be taking spark from the casual drone of voices. He left the sanctuary of Blaster's arms and explored the small patch of evening orange sunlight he was in. First Aid pulled up a few blades of grass and tossed them at Moonracer with a maniacal giggle.

"Brat," Moonracer said without rancor. Her quick fingers found a ticklish place and First Aid squealed a laugh before managing to roll out of reach. Beachcomber scooped the mechling up with only one hand. First Aid squealed and laughed and kicked his small feet until Beachcomber put him back on the ground. Bluestreak squeaked at Beachcomber, his wings up and optics bright with the same fearful curiosity Jazz had seen when he first met the sparkling.

Beachcomber grinned at the sparkling, "Come on, Blue, you wanna play?" The sparkling didn't run over to him but kept close to the ground and settled against his side with his wings curled around him. Beachcomber's long fingered hand was half the size of the sparkling when he scooped him up and held him at optic level for a few seconds. Bluestreak's wings snapped open on instinct and he laughed. Beachcomber put him back on the ground and the sparkling began chirping and twittering with more frequency.

"Feelin' better, lil' spark?" Blaster asked he held out his arms and Bluestreak bounded over to him with a yip. "You wanna see Sunny an' Sides?" he asked carefully standing with the sparkling in his arms. Bluestreak clung tighter to him than he had on the trip over and some of the fear came back. "Let's go see Sunny an' Sides and get somethin' to eat, yeah?" Blaster continued as he stroked Bluestreak's back. "Then we'll head back to the ship an' Prowl will be back just in time to read you a story." Bluestreak clicked and then nodded but stayed pressed close to Blaster's chest.

The rest of the mechs and femmes fell in formation around Blaster and Bluestreak looking very much like a protection detail. Jazz didn't miss the slow pan of Beachcomber's head as they walked out of the quiet oasis back to the busy street. Moonracer, despite her bright color scheme, was quiet as a shadow where she prowled at the fringe. Arcee argued with Streetwise about a holovid at the front but even there Jazz spotted the subtle tilt and turn of their heads as they watched their surroundings. Jazz took up the rear watching them and he was pretty sure they were watching him too.

 **oOo**

The restaurant Streetwise led them to was down a narrow side street in a quieter section of town. Decorative lights gave it an odd festive feeling and the loud laughter and conversation pouring from the second story patio added a nice ambience. The doorway was short enough Beachcomber needed to duck and narrow enough broad shouldered mechs like the Twins probably had to angle their bodies to get through. Inside a cacophony of noise and smells hit him. At the bottom level smaller tables with families smiled and laughed as servers darted to and fro. The low ceiling was strung with dim lights making it seem cozy instead of claustrophobic. Steaming dishes he couldn't identify whisked past him and despite his reservations, he found himself curious to try a few. Streetwise went up a set of stairs and pushed back a curtain revealing the bruised blue and purple sky as twilight faded into night.

On the second floor it wasn't hard to find the rest of the group. A long table was set up near the low railing. The gladiator Twins sat with their backs to the railing, pale blue optics moving in tandem as they watched people come and go. Hound and Trailbreaker sat at the other end of the table with a happily bouncing Bumblebee between them. Another mech from security, Inferno, sat with his back to the room. That surprised Jazz but, from what he'd seen, Inferno looked to be the most senior security personnel and he did have the Twins across from him. It'd take something special to sneak up on the mech.

Jazz's scanners blipped and a shadow shot past him. He jumped, almost knocking a server to the ground. The others in the group also jumped and then scowled. Inferno's head jerked around and the Twins' optics narrowed before Sideswipe gave his an exaggerated roll. "That's a good way to get shot, glitch," Inferno said, he had one of those deep voices that didn't rumble or croak, but spilled out smooth like steady flowing water. The shadow suddenly stilled and Jazz's scanners finally picked up on the mech.

"Sorry'boutthatthoughtIwaslate," the mech said. Jazz blinked as he waited for his processor to sort out the words. Shades of blue ranging from ice to navy the mech looked in every direction in the span of seconds. Up, down, left, right, and behind. His jittery energy made Jazz nervous. His hand tapped on a hip for a second and then he crossed his arms and shifted his weight before spinning around and dropping into an empty seat next to Inferno so fast he was only a blur.

"Primus, Blurr, you could'a told us you were coming," Streetwise grouched. The mech melted in his seat for less than a second before he was up and leaning forward on the table talking at warp speed.

"Didyougotothemarkettoday? PrimustheplacewaspackedbutIpickedupsomecoolstuff." Groove and Beachcomber sat on Blurr's other side and like a long distance communication there was a few seconds delay while everyone caught up to what Blurr said. Jazz had never heard of Blurr which made him even more uneasy. With the speed the mech moved there should have been _something_ , not even Jazz's upgraded sensor net had picked up on him until he was there and gone. If the mech had passed him on the street he might not have even noticed the blip. Something that fast could get past cameras and guards without much trouble.

Jazz watched the mech still not certain what to think about the twitchy thing and tried to figure out where he could sit. Moonracer and Arcee sat to the Twins' left—next to Sideswipe—with First Aid between them and Streetwise sat on Inferno's other side. Blaster walked around the table and set Bluestreak on Sideswipe's lap without comment or ceremony. The red twin blinked in surprise but wrapped an arm around the sparkling without argument.

Bluestreak twittered and chirped at Blurr. "YeahIsawyoutooBluedidProwlpickupanythingfun?" The sparkling nodded without any hesitation while Jazz was still trying to work through the sentence. He turned his mind away from the conversation for the time being. He knew sitting next to Sunstreaker was a No-No so he watched where Blaster sat. He didn't want to seem clingy, but this was the first time he'd been in a group of this size and while it seemed haphazard there was clearly some kind of unspoken seating arrangement. Deciding to play it safe, he sat in the chair next to Hound with his back to the railing and immediately had the feeling he was in someone's seat. Hound didn't say anything though. Bumblebee waved at him and he waved back a little awkwardly. Blaster sat a on the opposite side of the table and dragged Moonracer and Inferno into an argument about something that happened a septorn ago.

A few breems later three more mechs walked in. Jazz wouldn't admit it, but he stared longer than necessary at the dark blue mech walking toward the table with just enough roll to his hips for the mundane action to be borderline obscene. Glossy blue so deep it was almost black in places was highlighted by diamond white that not even the dim lights could diminish. Narrow optics that hinted at a distant seeker relative were a deep complimenting gold to his dark color scheme. Broad chested with slim hips he looked like he'd give a good tumble in the berth but also tear a mech apart.

He only stopped staring because the mech a step behind him was a rare thing; Praxian. With wings mostly pale grey his primaries were touched with blushing red and the arches with water blue that echoed his frame. Younger than Prowl, he didn't have the reserved grace of the older Praxian and talked excitedly with the other mech in the group. Pale grass green with sun gold highlights along his helm and shoulders he listened to the Praxian talk with an unimpressed expression.

Jazz's optics slid over to the dark blue mech as he walked around the table with every step an open invitation. And Jazz's focus switched from getting information on Prowl and Red Alert to getting the mech's room code. His lithe figure slid into a chair next to Sunstreaker, one chair over from Jazz. It would be too obvious if he moved now, but he'd gotten more information from longer distances. The Praxian plopped down next to him with a chipper smile that startled Jazz from his lascivious musings.

The green mech sat on Trailbreaker's other side and Jazz figured out whose seat he'd taken as soon as the mech started talking to Hound. "The mechling give you a runaround this orn?" he asked in a coarse voice. Jazz had thought he was younger than Hound, but there was age in his voice. Hound glanced down at Bumblebee sitting like a well behaved Disciple of Primus between the two scouts.

"'Course not, he's always on his best behavior," Hound laughed. Trailbreaker snorted and both Blaster and Moonracer laughed their loud laughs. Bumblebee gave his caretaker a bright smile that was the picture of innocence and even Jazz had to huff a laugh.

"He's pretty good at that," he said with a smile.

"That's how he gets his way with Ironhide," the Praxian said with an optic roll. "Prime, too. But I'm pretty sure Optimus knows what exactly the scraplet is up to. Ironhide is convinced Bumblebee and Bluestreak can't get anything past him," he snorted and Hound rolled his optics to the ceiling. Jazz tried to imagine the small youngling conning anything out of the ancient trigger-happy black and red mech he'd only seen a few times. "Smokescreen, by the way. You're the new mech? Has Sunstreaker punched you in the face yet?"

Jazz started to introduce himself and then stopped with his mouth still open. "Uh…what?"

Smokescreen was unrepentant. "I've got a pool going, we do it for all the new mechs, Sunny punches everyone in the face eventually. So I was wondering if he'd punched you yet because Seaspray is claiming it happened but no one's seen you in medical and Sunny can't keep track of who he's decked from one septorn to the next." He blinked, waiting for Jazz's answer.

"I… _what?_ " Jazz repeated. Smokescreen wasn't talking as fast as Blurr, but the words still weren't making sense in his processor. "You have a betting pool going on how long it takes me to get punched in the _face_?"

"By Sunny," Smokescreen added seriously. "Doesn't count if it's someone else."

"Call me Sunny one more time and it's _you_ I'm punching in the face," Sunstreaker growled, pale optics flashing with violent intent. The dark blue mech laughed and Jazz didn't think that low sound should be uttered around younglings and sparklings.

Smokescreen ignored the threat and Blaster broke in with a dry voice, "Bluestreak is already a little over his head, don't traumatize him." Bluestreak stood on Sideswipe's lap and put his hands on the table where he could see everyone and squeaked at Sunstreaker. The golden twin sat back with another growl but rubbed the back of Bluestreak's head with gentleness.

"Uh, no," Jazz said with a sideways glance at Smokescreen. "No one has punched me in the face and I plan on keeping it that way."

Smokescreen laughed. "Well no one _wants_ to get punched in the face. It's just one of those things that's bound to happen. Sunny's—well he tried—to punch Prowl in the face." The golden twin growled again and Smokescreen sat back. "How'd that go for ya'?" he asked with a sunny smile. Jazz blinked at the gladiator. Sunstreaker lifted a lip showing sharp fang and Sideswipe snorted. Sunstreaker glared at his twin, but any other action he might have taken was aborted while Bluestreak was with them.

As had happened at lunch, from nowhere food and drinks were soon set on the table. Some of the dishes Jazz had wanted to try downstairs were scattered on the table as well as several others. Bluestreak and Smokescreen wore matching expressions whenever a dish was passed to them and Jazz tried not to laugh. Bluestreak, with coaxing from Sideswipe, tried a tiny bit of each dish with varying degrees of delight. Beachcomber handed the red twin a bottle for the tiny sparkling once Bluestreak retreated from the edge of the table to the twin's lap.

"I love dinner time," Smokescreen said happily. "It's my third favorite time, just behind lunch time and breakfast time." Jazz almost snorted his drink up his olfactory ridge. Hound reached past him and flicked the Praxian's shoulder. Blaster and Moonracer fell into giggles.

"And his fourth favorite time is snack time," the green and gold mech said.

Smokescreen nodded, "Primus yes, I love snack time. Snack time might actually be better than breakfast time because you can have snacks whenever, right Blue?" The sparkling looked half in recharge while he drank his bottle and didn't answer. "All right, well, ask Prowl. Prowl knows. Snack time is a great time." Blaster was laughing so hard he couldn't eat and while the image of asking Prowl how he felt about snack time was amusing, Jazz missed why the scouts were also close to tears with laughter. Bumblebee shared his confusion and clicked at his caretakers.

"Praxians have to eat a lot," Hound told his small charge. Bumblebee thought about that for a few seconds and then chirped his understanding. Jazz couldn't work with that simple answer and asked for further clarification. "Well," Hound said gesturing to Smokescreen, "Praxians kinda got the short end of the pipe. They got the wings, but they're not really fliers, right? With the wings, they also got the seekers' high metabolism. Prowl's gotta eat twice as much as the rest of us just to keep the weight he's got. Blue and Smoky are still growing, so they need even more. Bluestreak probably eats more than First Aid every orn."

Smokescreen nodded. "Most unwinged mechs don't realize just how much food we need, I mean, it's kind of embarrassing, but." He shrugged and then dove back in to his dinner. Jazz mulled over that while he ate.

Megatron was obsessive about keeping supply lines secure and open. Jazz had thought the concern was a little overzealous. Supply line disruption wasn't pleasant, but units could still function. But he hadn't been aware of seekers' high metabolic needs, in fact, now that he was thinking about it, he hadn't encountered anyone who had hinted they knew it either. Seekers didn't eat with the rank and file, Starscream and his trinemates certainly didn't eat in the dispensary with everyone else. He'd figured that was just seeker Holier-Than-Thou coding, but if seekers required the amount of food Smokescreen and Hound just described or _more_ that was a critical weakness in the Decepticon Army.

Since Prowl had started working with the Autobots they'd gone from open field warfare where Decepticons were overwhelmingly superior to guerrilla tactics and sabotage. Most of it targeted at supply lines. Prowl knew his frame's weakness and Jazz was betting he knew more about seeker frame weaknesses than any Decepticon was willing to admit. If the Decepticons had a major supply line disruption…Jazz couldn't imagine the catastrophe that would be. Starscream certainly did though. It was his armada that always gave Decepticons the edge over the Autobots.

In regards to ground soldiers the Autobots actually outnumbered the Decepticons. Not by much, but with Megatron's tactics in open field battles Decepticons always suffered heavy ground casualties. It was air superiority that allowed the Decepticons to pummel the Autobots with the ease he could beat First Aid.

He had to swallow past a lump in his throat. If Prowl ever succeeded in stopping or even slowing supplies, the frontlines would collapse. The Autobots would win the war.

 **oOo**

With parting instructions to the rest of the dinner crew to meet later; Blaster, Jazz, Sideswipe, and Hound headed back to the drop ship that would take them back to the _Ark_. Bluestreak squeaked in Sideswipe's arms drifting in and out of recharge as the frontliner walked through the city. The traffic wasn't as bad as it had been, but there were still too many headlights coming at Jazz for him to be comfortable. Hound had Bumblebee perched on his shoulder so the youngling could look at everything. But even Jazz could see his chipper energy was flagging. First Aid walked for a bit before he asked Blaster to pick him up. Now the youngling had his head on the mech's shoulder and looked like he was sound in recharge.

The rumble of the drop ship engines didn't wake any of the drowsing little ones and Jazz sat back in his seat staring at the ceiling trying to get his processor around everything that had happened during the orn. Blaster, in fact, everyone, he needed to handle with far more care than he had been. It was stupid mistake to begin with. He'd been in the field too long to be making rookie mistakes. He also needed to work on figuring out what Autobot plans were in regards to Decepticon supply lines. That meant he had to make himself an indispensable confidant for someone in the command chain. That wasn't what he was supposed to do, but Primus, he was on the _Ark_ , he might as well get everything he could out of them.

He doubted the Prime would look twice at him, he was too young and the commander had much more senior staff to help him. Ironhide he was still wary of even saying 'good orn' to and Ratchet actually scared him a little. Wheeljack he didn't think was part of the command chain, but he was close with Ratchet so there might be something there. Blaster he was getting close to, but he had no idea how the loud mech fit into the command chain. Soundwave's position was never in question. He was TIC and more loyal than gravity was true. Blaster was frustratingly ambiguous. His mind stuttered over Red Alert and skipped past it to Prowl. Prowl had, thus far, been the most accessible of the senior command staff. He might be able to squeeze himself in. Maybe. His mind flashed back to Red Alert's unwavering stare, the silent threat in every line of his body.

He might just be stuck with Blaster.

The ship docked and First Aid lifted his head with a tired sound. Blaster stroked the back of his head and stood up. Bluestreak pressed closer to Sideswipe's frame as the frontliner followed Hound off. Bumblebee had finally given in and fallen into recharge and not even the docking woke him.

Before he was even off the ship Jazz knew Ratchet was in the hangar. He stepped onto the ramp and saw the Ahnkmorian striding toward them with Wheeljack several steps behind speaking with a smaller mech about something on a datpad. Ratchet took the youngling with practiced ease and carried him with one arm. "Story?" First Aid's tired voice carried in the open room but he didn't lift his head or open his optics. Blaster grinned and Wheeljack's fins flashed bright blue twice.

"Yes," Ratchet said with fondness in his optics even if his voice was brusque. "Though it looks like it'll be a short one or you won't hear the ending." First Aid nodded and snuggled closer to him dropping back into recharge. Ratchet stroked his back and said a quiet word of thanks to Blaster before following Hound out of the hangar.

Slipping in after Ratchet passed through the door, Prowl entered with footfalls so soft there wasn't a sound in a room that caught even Jazz's soft intakes. Behind him, with a bit more noise and all the more ominous for it, Red Alert stalked in. Sharp blue-white optics raked over Jazz's frame like razors and he fought not to cringe. Blaster yawned and stretched. "He should be pretty tired. We went to a temple and he got a little scared, but he pulled himself out of it." Prowl made a soft crooning sound and took the sparkling from Sideswipe. Bluestreak yawned and squeaked a few times before he realized why he had been taken from Sideswipe.

With the little ones dropped off; Blaster, Jazz, and Sideswipe returned to the colony to meet up with the others for a few joors of adult fun. "So, I didn't get everyone's names at dinner," Jazz said casually as they began their final descent. Blaster tilted his head to hear him but didn't take his optics off the console or the window. Sideswipe didn't answer, having decided to treat him with the same amount of care and attention he would a piece of furniture. Jazz was content to let the feeling be mutual. "The lighter green mech that talked with Hound. He talked like he was a scout and the blue mech that sat next to Sunstreaker." That hadn't left Sunstreaker's side for more than a breem but the two hadn't acted like lovers. They hadn't quite acted like friends either. He wasn't certain what to make of it, but he was pretty sure from Sideswipe's unamused sound that the blue mech was the reason Sunstreaker hadn't accompanied them back to the ship.

"Green mech's Springer, and he is a scout," Blaster said dropping down into the LZ. "And the blue pain in the aft is Tracks. You can hear _all_ about him if you ask him about him." There was an optic roll in his voice and Sideswipe barked a laugh.

The door opened and Sideswipe jogged down the ramp and headed toward the city. Blaster watched him go with a raised optic ridge. "That's either trouble or he just wants to get back to his brother." He paused and watched the mech steadily get farther away. "Either way, we should hurry."

They made it to the club a breem after Sideswipe ducked inside. Blaster looked up and down the street. "Well, no enforcers and I don't hear anyone screaming, so things must be under control." Jazz laughed, feeling a bit more out of breath than he was comfortable admitting. Blaster didn't look winded at all, like they'd just done a lap around the block instead of a twenty breem jog.

Ducking in through the door Jazz was hit with loud bass beats that rumbled the floor and a press of bodies. Strobe lights flicked over the crowd on the dancefloor. Set further back along the wall were small tables and chairs arranged so that no matter where a mech sat they could see the dance floor. Trailbreaker sat with Blurr at a table, both with glasses of high grade in front of them laughing at something. Cliffjumper and two other small mechs were at the bar chatting with some of the locals.

He saw Moonracer's distinctive colors on the dancefloor and a flash of glittering gold that could only be Sunstreaker with Sideswipe half a step behind him in the constantly shifting crowd. Blaster melded seamlessly into the jumping and shimmying crowd and Jazz suddenly felt exposed.

He hadn't been to a club in…a long, long time. Not since joining the Decepticons. None of his other posts had he gone to the club, always opting instead to stay behind and cover someone else's shift giving him time to explore and catalogue base and ship weaknesses. He knew standing in the doorway wasn't a great way to blend in but his body felt clunky and graceless as he watched others twirl and stomp and jump with the beat. He'd been a good dancer, once upon a time, but he couldn't remember what his body was supposed to do.

"Jazz, come on glitch, don't stand there all night," Arcee laughed. She materialized next to him and dragged him further into the room. The song changed when they hit the dancefloor and Jazz tried weakly to dig his heels in. The femme was strong despite her slight frame and pulled him in. "Come on, I'll teach you. Jump, jump, left! Jump, jump, right!" He followed, clumsy at first, but as the song progressed the stiffness left his limbs and he felt the groove working its way into him. He could do this. He used to love doing this.

He laughed with Arcee and when the next fast song started he didn't need any tutorial, his body found the rhythm and he jumped right in.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** Ah, I miss Cambodia.

I can't remember who asked, but no, it was not my experience at the Killing Fields that made me change this to a DeathFic. While I'm certain Megatron is a tyrant on par with Pol Pot, that's not something I can fictionalize. Some things are just too horrible to put words to.

But, I hope you enjoyed. Next chapter we get to meet a few more characters that I haven't written before!

And, as always, thank you for R/R/F/F!


	6. Chapter 6

The night at the club seemed to solidify some of Jazz's status as a member of the _Ark_. Not everyone cozied up to him of course, but almost a kel out from the eventful colony stop Jazz found himself invited more often to relax and hang out with more mechs and femmes.

He didn't relax his guard like he had at his previous assignments. He couldn't afford to. There wasn't a pair of optics or audios that didn't catch every word he said or move he made. But he was—somewhat—getting used to it. With the three mechlings running around every mech and femme on the ship was acting as a guardian; big, battle blooded, and vicious guardians. He found their preoccupation with keeping the younglings and sparkling safe its own strange blessing. They were so concerned about the little ones they didn't seem to be all that concerned with their own safety.

Except Red Alert.

Any time Jazz started to "get lost" or wander down a quiet hall the mech would materialize, like he was walking through walls, and without a word Jazz would hightail it back to more populated halls. The mech was as all seeing as Primus in the security room and Jazz had yet to get a shift in that room. And no one _wanted_ security shifts so he couldn't exactly ask around to find out how long it would be until he got one.

But right now those were background thoughts. More immediate he was trying to figure—out once again—how frontliners known for brawling and dismembering mechs could be so gentle and patient with the younglings. Hound and Blaster he could understand. Hound had a way about him that was calm and unruffled. Blaster, despite his frightening intelligence, was very much a youngling in his interests. But Red Alert? There were planets of ice warmer and more welcoming than the red and grey mech but for whatever reason the mechlings adored him. Bluestreak in particular seemed to go out of his way to see the Gygaxian at every opportunity, sometimes sneaking away from whoever was watching him to seek the security director out.

Jazz sat with Blaster and Hound half listening to the conversation and half watching Bluestreak chow down on his breakfast. Sparklings were messy. That was a universal truth, but Bluestreak was somehow cleaner than Bumblebee, who managed to get every other spoonful of whatever he was eating either on his face or on the table. Bluestreak was telling Red Alert about the game he and Bumblebee had played last night between bites, his tiny stuttering voice the loudest thing in the dispensary at the late morning joor. Red Alert looked more relaxed than Jazz had ever seen him while he listened to the story. Jazz made every effort not to draw attention to his watching Bluestreak and Bumblebee eat so the red and grey mech wouldn't come down on him. Bumblebee added his own commentary while Hound tried to get at least some food in the little youngling.

First Aid sat further down with a smaller mech Jazz had learned was Perceptor another genius scientist on the Autobot payroll. Not as important to Megatron as Wheeljack since Perceptor worked more with biology than engineering or chemicals, but still. First Aid ate his breakfast without help and giggled and kicked his feet and told Perceptor what _really_ happened and then Bumblebee and Bluestreak would argue with him.

Where Wheeljack always had his chin on his hand or sprawled out his long limbs in a chair, Perceptor kept his hands folded neatly on the table and listened to the story with polite interest. His bi-colored optics were rare, one a stunning aquamarine and the other blazing white but other than that he wasn't much of a looker. He looked exactly like every science nerd Jazz had ever seen in school. He was probably on the _Ark_ so the rest of the army didn't beat him up. But on the other hand, Ratchet had proven to be a very protective guardian over First Aid, even when the youngling was safe on the ship. So if First Aid was in the dispensary without further escort there had to be something about Perceptor that could give a mech a bad time.

He became aware of Blaster laughing his special laugh he only used when he caught Jazz watching the younglings and sparkling like they were a new species. He no longer denied it. "I will never get used to this. I don't think I'll ever understand it," he said in response to Blaster's laugh.

"Me neither," Hound grumbled. "Why is it, you hate baths so much but do e'rything you can to get dirty?" he asked the youngling, exasperated. Bumblebee drew pictures in the food on the table. Blaster's loud laugh seemed to brighten the quiet room.

 **oOo**

A kel later Jazz watched First Aid listen to Perceptor and Wheeljack argue about something so theoretical the math they were using to describe it was just this side of being science fiction. The youngling's head bobbed back and forth between speakers but he didn't look like he was learning anything, he was just getting a kick out of the two scientists arguing. Perceptor said something that might have been Cybertronian or it might've just been a bunch of letters strung together and Wheeljack threw up his hands, falling back in his chair with an irritated huff before he was leaning forward again also talking gibberish.

"Y'know, maybe we're wrong," Jazz said to Trailbreaker. "Maybe Bluestreak doesn't speak sparkling gibberish, maybe he's talkin' science but none of us are smart enough to understand." The big black mech almost spit his ration out and started laughing.

Further down the table, Sideswipe barked a laugh where he and Sunstreaker were teaching Bumblebee how to tie different types of knots. The youngling was thoroughly engrossed in the project, trying to get his clumsy young fingers to copy the quick deft motion of the Twins'. The Twins were in no way friendly with Jazz, but they had thawed enough they could acknowledge a joke when they heard it.

Back at the Battle of Theory, Perceptor tilted his head to the side like he was getting a message. "Ah, my samples are ready. Shall we continue tonight?" he asked. Wheeljack's fins lit up bright white and he nodded. Perceptor stood with stately grace and gave First Aid a quick kiss on the head before heading back to his lab.

First Aid swung his feet while he finished his breakfast. "Did you win?" he asked Wheeljack.

Wheeljack tilted his head a bit and looked up from what he was reading. "Win what?"

"What you were talking about," First Aid said bouncing in his chair a little.

"Ah, mechling, in the pursuit of knowledge we all win," Wheeljack said, rubbing the mechling's cephalic fins. First Aid's face scrunched in confusion and Sunstreaker snorted. "Come on mechling, let's go up to the observation deck and spy on celestial bodies!" Wheeljack stood up with his usual enthusiasm and First Aid jumped out of his chair and bolted from the room with an excited squeal.

"Nerd," Sideswipe said. Sunstreaker leaned across the table and punched his shoulder. Bumblebee giggled and held up his rope for the Twins to see.

Frightened squeaks and chirps brought a hammer down on the good mood. The Twins, optics turning stormy battle-ready purple stood in one fluid motion silent as Death. Bumblebee stayed in his chair with wide optics and Trailbreaker got up hoisting the mechling into his arms. No force field shimmered around him but the deadly focus he had on the door said he was primed and ready to deploy one. He left the dispensary slower than the Twins and Jazz followed several steps behind. He did _not_ want to get caught up in the Twins' whirlwind of fury but curiosity wouldn't let him stay idle.

In the hall, Wheeljack held Bluestreak in his arms trying to calm him enough he could understand what had the little mech upset. First Aid looked just as confused as Wheeljack and as frightened as Bluestreak. "What?" Sideswipe asked while his brother looked up and down the halls still unnaturally silent and Jazz's plates prickled. Whatever had the sparkling upset had only breems to live.

"Something…fell or dropped? I don't know he's too upset, most of what's coming out is just noise." Wheeljack stood with Bluestreak still uttering little distressed sounds, his tiny wings flicking erratically. "All right, Bluestreak, can you show? Show me what fell, all right. We'll fix it." That seemed to get the sparkling's attention and he wiggled to be put down and as soon as his feet touched the floor he bounded away with the Twins right behind him, silent and merciless. "First Aid, go back with Trailbreaker. I'll come get you in a moment, I promise," Wheeljack said to the frightened youngling. Pressing a quick kiss to his head he gave the youngling an encouraging push to the dispensary door. Trailbreaker kneeled down and hoisted First Aid up in his other arm and the youngling seemed to feel a little better off the ground.

Wheeljack was fast. Kalisians in general weren't very graceful on the ground, their arboreal frames weren't built for sprints across flat ground, but Wheeljack was an exception. Jazz was quick for a small mech, but one of Wheeljack's strides matched two of his and the engineer stayed a length ahead of him no matter how hard Jazz pushed himself.

He didn't have time to appreciate they were heading down a hallway he'd not been down before, one he was certain led to the science corridor. Wheeljack's curse and a quick general location ping going out to all science personnel confirmed his assumption. "Twins?" Wheeljack yelled, "if there's a door open, close it and get the frag away." That made Jazz slow for a couple steps. What exactly were the Autobot scientists working on?

They came around a corner and Wheeljack let out another curse. Jazz actually stumbled to a stop staring with disbelieving optics at Red Alert collapsed on the floor. The imposing red and grey mech looked like he'd been knocked out, hard. His feet and hands twitched intermittently, his razor sharp horns caught the light when his head twitched. Bluestreak chirped and squeaked alternating between hiding next to Sideswipe and trying to wake Red Alert. A camera was disassembled next to him and the tools he'd been using were still set in an orderly manner. Whoever had attacked him had not only managed to sneak up behind him but also not disturb his workspace. That was creepy.

"Who the frag hits a Gygaxian hard enough to knock 'im out?" Jazz gasped keeping his distance. Even with Red Alert on the ground and in no position to threaten him he was wary of getting too close. No one answered his question. Wheeljack kneeled next to Red Alert and carefully put a hand between Red Alert's horns to keep the mech from jerking and slicing anyone.

"It's all right, Bluestreak. Ratchet is on his way and Red Alert will be up and fine in a joor," Wheeljack said softly. The sparkling put his tiny hands on Red Alert's broad back and gave him a little shake, fear washing his optics almost white. The Twins lost their battle menace and kneeled down, Sunstreaker calling the sparkling to him. Bluestreak hesitated with Red Alert and made another distressed little keen. Wheeljack made a soft sound trying to soothe the sparkling. "He'll be all right, Bluestreak. He just has to go with Ratchet for a joor and he'll be good as new. Go with Sunstreaker and the Twins will take you to Prowl. He'll come with you down to the med bay when Red Alert feels better." The sparkling squeaked and curled up close to Red Alert's back like a terrified sentinel.

Ratchet came running down the hall but he looked more annoyed the worried. "Twins, so fragging help me," he growled. Jazz took a discreet step back. He was certain if Ratchet ever turned a glare like that on him he'd either leak all over himself or cry. Maybe both.

Both warriors took a step back as well with hands up. "All we did was follow Blue, he was down when we got here." Sideswipe said while his brother growled. That seemed to take a chip off of Ratchet's annoyance. He sighed when he saw Bluestreak curled up against Red Alert still making those pitiful scared squeaks.

Kneeling down Ratchet thoroughly ignored everyone else while he scanned Red Alert's frame and made a hardline jack into him through a port in the back of his neck. His movements were quick and practiced and Jazz took a moment to appreciate it. Decepticon medics…most weren't really medics. Overwhelmingly, those formally trained in medicine and healing had sided with the Autobots as the war dragged on. So the Decepticon Butchers—as they were mostly referred to—were frontliners that knew a bit more about patching and welding than the average mech. And most of them would only put their limited skills to use if the price was right. Jazz avoided the med bay the same way he avoided Shockwave's labs.

Withdrawing his hardline Ratchet sighed and looked at the sparkling fretting over the adult mech like a creator himself. "Bluestreak," he said in a gentle voice he never used with the adults. "Red Alert is fine. He'll wake up soon and then you can come back and help him with the cameras." Bluestreak chirped and climbed over Red Alert's frame to snuggle close to his spark. Rubbing his nasal ridge Ratchet sighed again. "All right, you can stay with him. Come on." Red Alert was big enough Jazz figured Ratchet would have to get a gurney and maybe have the Twins help move him. Without a hitch, the older mech hefted Red Alert's dense frame into his arms and stood. Jazz blinked when he didn't hear gears creak or hydraulics wheeze. He didn't look like it was any effort whatsoever to hold a fully grown Gygaxian warrior in his arms. Without Red Alert's body next to him, Bluestreak suddenly looked smaller in the big hall. He scampered next to Ratchet, anxiously looking up every few steps still squeaking.

"What the frag happened?" Jazz asked, still trying to get around the fact that Red Alert had been sprawled out in the hall like someone had gotten the drop on him. And Ratchet, Primus, what was that medic made of?

"Glitch," the Twins said together with a dismissive wave and Sunstreaker said to Wheeljack, "First Aid." And then they were leaving the hall. Jazz looked at Wheeljack for further explanation.

The engineer shrugged. "Red has a glitch. Sometimes this happens. I don't know why, Ratchet guards patient confidentiality with his life, but sometimes he…passes out? I don't know what to call it. It's kind of scary if you're standing next to him when it happens. He must've been distracted because usually he gets down to the med bay or pretty close to it before it hits him." He brightened up a little. "But he'll be all right. He recharges it off and then he's surlier than the Unmaker for the rest of the orn, but life goes on."

Jazz was done with his shift, he'd actually been grabbing a late dinner for him when he'd gotten caught up talking with Trailbreaker. So, on the pretense of going to the med bay, he walked down the science corridor. He would have lingered longer looking at the door locks and security systems but he kept expecting Red Alert to come walking out a door any moment and stare him down until he ran.

He stopped outside the med bay entrance and just barely put his head past the doorframe when Ratchet's voice from somewhere deeper in the med bay snapped, "What?" Jazz jumped back a step and then flicked his fins a couple times chastising himself for being such a weak spark. Ratchet might be a _legitimate_ Ahnkmorian warrior and not some suburban putz, but he was a medic. A very strong surly medic who, from the stories he'd heard, had a sniper's aim with a wrench.

"Hi, uh, is…is he okay?" he asked, still not walking past the doorway. He felt a little weird talking to a room that from all appearances was empty. Then Ratchet emerged from a doorway tucked back in the corner. Jazz guessed it was his office and he also realized he wasn't looking at a continuation of the med bay, but a mirror, probably a one-way window so Ratchet could see everything happening in the med bay. Red Alert lay on a berth close to the mirror with Bluestreak curled up on his chest sound in recharge.

Ratchet canted his head to the side, his gold rimmed optics dissecting Jazz where he stood and Jazz was suddenly very glad he had been sincere when he wanted to know if Red Alert was okay. It felt like the medic could suss out a lie without a mech even opening his mouth. "He'll be fine," the medic said at last, the bright nickel colored scars on the side of his face turned even his neutral expression into something bordering on a glower. He glanced back at the mech and sparkling looking for all the world like they were taking a nap together instead of one of them dealing with what sounded like a pretty serious glitch.

"Wheeljack said Bluestreak won't tolerate leaving him," Prowl's soft voice said from behind Jazz coming very close to scaring the Polyhexian into a spark attack. As it was he whirled around with a knife in his hand. Without missing a beat, Prowl grabbed his wrist and disarmed him and handed the knife back to him hilt first. Jazz's shaking hand took the knife after a second, he was still breathing hard from the scare but Prowl was watching Ratchet with quiet expectation.

Ratchet scowled at him. "The frag did I tell you about creeping up on mechs like that? You'll either be skewered or you'll scare someone straight back to the Well." He made a curt gesture at the berth where Bluestreak was still in recharge with the end of one wing in his mouth.

Jazz didn't walk into the med bay until Prowl did and then he stayed close to the door. Prowl didn't make a sound as he moved. His creators had named him incredibly well. Bluestreak chirruped in his recharge when Prowl stroked the top of his head. "How bad was it?" he murmured.

It was…unnerving seeing Red Alert laid out on a med berth. The mech wasn't animated by anyone's standards but it didn't seem right to have him looking so still and vulnerable. His breaths came easy and slow and with his face relaxed in recharge he didn't look nearly as intimidating as he did in the halls when he scowled at everyone.

Ratchet picked up a datpad and whatever he saw there made him scowl. "He won't be down long," his voice was soft but filled the med bay. In the span of kels, Jazz had gone from being terrified of the medic to being intimidated to something close to idol worship. The Ahnkmorian was un-fraggin'-stoppable. If he died with even a quarter of Ratchet's authority and power it would be after a lifetime of incredible feats and accomplishments. And the fraggin' medic didn't even look like he was trying when he did it. He was a force of nature personified.

Prowl's gentle hands stroked the side of Red Alert's face and up to the base of his deadly horns. His movements stayed slow and soothing and just watching him Jazz felt himself beginning to relax. He'd seen mechs glitch out of fear and pain and from viruses before, but he'd never spent time with a chronic glitch or glitches that came out of nowhere. It was creepy to think a mech's mind could just do that to him. Scary, even, when he knew how strong Red Alert was. That his own mind could lay him out like a beating from Megatron was disturbing.

Red Alert made a soft sound, a sudden intake of breath or an exhale, something quiet and weak and definitely nothing like the mech Jazz had come to fear. His body went rigid for a full two seconds before relaxing back on the berth as Prowl continued to stroke his face and horns. He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Red Alert's forehead and murmured something to soft for Jazz to make out. That alone would have put Jazz right back into recharge, but Red Alert pulled his head away from Prowl with a sharp jerk. "Go away," the words were flat and made Jazz flinch, not expecting their loudness after how soft everyone else had been. Then he glared at Red Alert. Prowl had taken the time to come down and visit him in the med bay and all he had for the mech was Go Away? Glitch or not, that was fraggin' rude.

Bluestreak woke up with a small sound and Prowl scooped him up while he was still getting his bearings. The little mech snuggled close to his spark and dropped back into recharge like only young mechs could.

Prowl didn't react to the dismissal, as if he heard it often enough he could ignore it. Giving Bluestreak an affectionate nuzzle he said, "I'll bring your ration to you." Jazz stared at the mech. If any mech tried to talk to him like Red Alert just did, he would've left them to starve, not be offering to bring them food. Red Alert didn't answer and curled on his side with his back to Prowl. Prowl stroked a hand down his back once and then nodded to Ratchet and silently left.

"You're lucky," Ratchet said once Prowl was out the door and walking down the hall. "He puts up with more of your slag than anyone else would." Red Alert curled up more, looking like a mech half his size and less intimidating that Bluestreak. Jazz slipped out no longer concerned about the cranky mech, what had Wheeljack said, surlier than the Unmaker. Well, the CSO hadn't been joking about that. Jazz didn't think Red Alert could get crankier, but there it was. He couldn't figure out how or why Prowl could be so fraggin' nice to the mech when he was about as enjoyable as a bad case of food poisoning. And Bluestreak, too who was always bouncing on the mech's heels and trying to nap on his lap or get him to pick him up. Maybe it was a Praxian thing.

 **oOo**

Jazz walked into the dispensary yawning. It wasn't too late, but late enough most mechs not on third or fourth shift were in their quarters. The rec room was as quiet as it got with a few mechs and femmes playing cards. Not even a holovid was on. He came up a little short when he saw Prowl at a far table reading a datpad with Bluestreak balanced on his lap scribbling on a color pad. Prowl gave him a small tired smile when he glanced up but didn't invite further conversation. Jazz picked up his ration and sat closer to the door stretching his toes a bit and working himself up for another dull shift.

He was halfway through his ration when footsteps he was certain he heard in his nightmares came down the hall. Red Alert hesitated only a second before walking into the room. If Jazz hadn't been watching him he wouldn't have seen it, but for the always confident mech it was like seeing him fall on his face. Prowl looked up from what he and Bluestreak were doing and canted his head watching the mech approach. Red Alert stopped next to him, his expression fiercer than it usually was and Jazz thought he might actually tackle the mech if he tried to yell at Prowl. Ratchet was right, Prowl put up with more than a smelter's worth of slag than any mech ought to.

Red Alert and Prowl watched each other for a long breem. Bluestreak looking between them with soft inquiring chirps as the breem stretched into two. Red Alert's lips parted but words didn't come out. A flicker of frustration and anger cracked his normally impassive face. Prowl gently set Bluestreak next to him and stood. Stroking the side of Red Alert's face like he had in the med bay he said, "I know." His hand slid up to the base of Red Alert's horn and the red and grey mech's optics half-closed. "And I see Ratchet's hand in this," Prowl continued softly, fingers still stroking Red Alert's horn. "I know," he said softer. Red Alert lowered his head to Prowl's shoulder and closed his optics completely.

Bluestreak chirped at them and held out his arms imploringly. Prowl laughed softly and picked up the sparkling. He kept one arm around Red Alert and the mech didn't pull away. Gentle fingers stroked down Bluestreak's back and the sparkling squeaked and yawned before snuggling close to Prowl's spark and closing his optics. Red Alert and Prowl stayed as they were until Bluestreak was clicking softly in recharge. Then Red Alert lifted his head and together they left, Prowl's wing brushing across Red Alert's back as they walked.

 **oOo**

Jazz took a detour after his shift and went by the hangar. He figured he had only a breem or two to look before Red Alert swooped down on him like the wrath of Primus and scared him out. But he hadn't had a chance to look at the hangar in any detail and that was the one place in any ship sabotage and boarding were the easiest. He hummed a little as he walked, Blaster's habit of listening to music at every breem of every orn was rubbing off on him. But the _Ark_ was a big ship and sometimes it took a few breems to get places, why not fill that boring walk with some good music. He also found it was the best excuse if he was caught in a hallway out of his way. Him? Oh, he was just listening to a song and wanted to finish it before he got to blah, blah, blah. It was common as air to see mechs and femmes from engineering or navigation or tactical on opposite sides of the ship from their shift areas and they all had music going while they hummed or whistled or even danced down the halls.

He ducked into the hangar snapping stills of the light craft currently docked and of joints and the heavy outer doors. It was neat and orderly and brighter than the _Nemesis_ ' hangar. That probably made it easier for the cameras to pick up movement even in the shadows of light craft. Jazz once again had to admit a grudging respect for Red Alert. The shadows were minimal, even under the light craft because of lights set in the walls, not just overhead. If things weren't stacked directly against the wall there was a small light behind them making it Pit near impossible for anyone to sneak around. The _Nemesis_ ' hangar was like a door swinging open compared to the _Ark_. That was probably how their XOps kept getting in. Megatron was a big fan of atmosphere and constant shadows did make the _Nemesis_ spooky, but from what Jazz was learning, they were a security nightmare.

He walked around a light craft that sounded like it had just powered down, engines humming and bleeding heat. Curiosity pulled him to investigate further and he came almost optic to optic with a mech he hadn't met. Jumping back in surprise he started to put on his affable Sorry-Stupid-Poly-Got-Lost act but stopped.

Vosians had dark optics in general, the dark colors helped cut down on the glare of sun on reflective surfaces as they flew. The rich ruby red that met his optics was nothing more than an evolutionary quirk. It was how those optics met his. It was the tilt of the seeker's head, the lift of his wings, and the set of his shoulders.

Decepticon.

Like a good Autobot, Jazz unholstered his blaster and leveled it at the seeker. No fear in those optics colored like the heart of fire. His wings spread a fraction making him loom larger than he already was. Jazz hissed a warning, his own fins rising to back up the verbal threat. There could not be another Decepticon on the ship. Jazz was well aware some of his ingrained mannerisms were from prolonged and direct association with Decepticons. The Autobots passed it off as personal idiosyncrasies but another Decepticon was certain to recognize them for what they were. Still, Starscream would raise Pit if Jazz outright shot one of his flyers. Lucky for both of them, Autobots were fond of final warnings before taking deadly action. "You got one second to fly back home, fledgling," he hissed.

"Jazz," Prowl's silky voice came from behind him and he almost shot the seeker on reflex. He had to figure out how Prowl could come up behind him like that. "Lower your weapon, Silverbolt will not harm you." Jazz could swear there was a trace of amusement in his voice. Cursing from one end of the Polyhexian alphabet to the other and starting on the Iaconian one, he lowered his weapon but didn't holster it. If Prowl didn't recognize the seeker for Decepticon he had to find a subtle way to make him realize it. There absolutely could not be two agents on the _Ark_ , especially not a seeker. Jazz couldn't do his job while worrying if another agent was trying to expose him because he wanted to get in Starscream's good graces. Still growling he glowered at the seeker as Prowl brushed past him.

Prowl didn't seem to pay attention to Jazz once his weapon was lowered but Jazz was certain the Praxian was very aware of him. "Are you two all right?" he asked with genuine concern in his voice. "Your message left us worried, Ratchet in particular will be hunting you down if you don't see him first." And there was that undercurrent of humor again. Jazz ground his denta. Prowl's familiarity was going to make Jazz's exposure of the mech harder. He was after all the new mech and it sounded like the seeker had known Prowl awhile.

"Two?" Jazz snapped, his mind catching up to what Prowl said and not just how he said it. He cranked up his sensor net so he could watch the Decepticon and search for the other. The seeker's ruby optics were cold and hard as he appraised Jazz, his face expressionless and his head still angled up in the haughty manner all seekers had. Jazz felt his plates beginning to rise again. He'd been on the receiving end of that stare several times. This wasn't some low ranking grunt. He was looking at an officer.

Dropping his wing without flourish the seeker revealed a much younger winged mech behind him. Colored like fire the young juvenile's dark gold optics looked over Jazz with wary curiosity. The arches of his wings were a red so deep it was almost black that gradually faded to white at the very tips of his primaries; streaks of brilliant gold and orange shot through the red like sparks. Contrasting with the dark red of his wings, his frame was mostly a dark burnt orange with highlights of gold on his helm and shoulders and lower legs. He looked like a small flame just beginning to catch.

The older seeker watched him with a more deadly intensity and Jazz realized he was still holding his blaster with a finger on the trigger. He eased his finger off the trigger a little at a time, not wanting the seeker to think he was in anyway threatening the juvenile. Seekers were infamous for their base coding. Decepticon or not, the mech would annihilate Jazz if he thought the juvenile was in danger.

"Fireflight, Silverbolt, this is Jazz," Prowl said ignoring the tension. The juvenile watched both older winged mechs and took some comfort in whatever he saw because he stepped up closer to Silverbolt but didn't come around him. He did give Jazz a small wave and his wings fluttered a little. Jazz tried to remember how to be polite but his processor was trying to split in a hundred different directions. The older seeker didn't give any indication he even heard Prowl. He was still as stone and still staring at Jazz with borderline hostility. "Fireflight is not in danger, Silverbolt," Prowl said softly. "I was unaware Jazz was in the hangar or I would have told you both." Jazz felt the chastisement and with it came a chill. Prowl would want to know why Jazz was poking around in the hangar. He needed an excuse or a distraction.

Silverbolt finally moved, he looked down at Fireflight and his expression softened a trace when the juvenile snorted. Long clawed fingers stroked Fireflight's back between his wings. "You said Ratchet was on the hunt? Then we best find him before he thinks we're avoiding him," Silverbolt said. With the exception of Starscream, seekers had pleasant voices. Silverbolt's was a soft alto, whatever his accent was gave the words a musical element, like he was used to there being more syllables.

"The Twins are on first shift, so they will be free by the time he's done poking and prodding," Prowl said. Fireflight's timid attitude vanished. His gold optics flashed sunshine yellow and he left Silverbolt's side with a yip of excitement and ran past Jazz without hesitation. Jazz flinched, not at all expecting the explosion of motion from what had been a quiet and shy mechling. The Praxian and seeker watched him go, both with the same faintly amused expression. Prowl turned to Silverbolt and said, "Call me when you're free." The seeker dipped his head in acknowledgment and walked past Jazz without a glance.

Jazz watched him go, waiting for him to disappear into the ship proper. He had to assume Silverbolt kept walking and didn't linger in the doorway. If Prowl started to follow the seeker's keen sensor net might pick up their conversation. As it was, talking inside the hangar still might be too close. "Prowl," Jazz said burying his anxiety but his voice was far more intense than he would normally let it get. Prowl gave him his attention and didn't start walking back to the entrance, for which Jazz was grateful. "I been in the field a long time, and I swear I'm not profilin', but that seeker is a Decepticon."

"I know."

Those two words brought all of Jazz's frantic thoughts to a screeching halt. He stared at the Praxian, mouth partway open like he was glitching. And maybe he was. "You…you _know_?" Jazz said incredulity making his voice a little higher than usual.

Prowl nodded serenely. "He was a Sergeant First Class for the Decepticons, he's not been given an Autobot rank. For now he acts more as an advisor. Given what would happen to him should Megatron capture him, I'm not keen on putting him out in the field. So the arrangement works for both of us." He started walking, stretching his wings a bit. Jazz followed dumbly still trying to process what he heard.

"But…he…defector?" he finally managed to get out. Prowl tilted his head as he thought over the mess Jazz's mouth spit out.

"Not…officially," Prowl said after a long breem. "If there was any paperwork on the matter, we'd have to give him some sort of rank and function, and, as I said, I'm not keen on him being in the field. So, he advises when possible, but mostly he and Fireflight stay in what is considered hostile territory for us and keeps an audio to the ground on how the general population is doing."

Jazz was still trying to get his mind to work around Prowl admitting he knowingly let a Decepticon officer onboard the _Ark_. "Why, I mean, they're called _Decepticons_ for a reason and you…he's just gonna walk around here?" He wasn't sure if he wanted to punch Prowl or laugh at how ridiculous the whole thing was. Soundwave had spent _centicycles_ setting up the ideal situation for a Decepticon agent to get into the _Ark_ and here Prowl just invited an officer in for a glass of high grade.

Prowl glanced at him, sadness in his optics. "Silverbolt is no longer a part of Decepticon army, Jazz. He has his reasons. If you must know them to trust my judgement, then you must ask him yourself. His story is not mine to tell."

 **oOo**

The rec room was crowded that evening and Jazz ground his denta more as even the Twins didn't bother giving Silverbolt a once over. The seeker sat by himself though, so Jazz didn't feel like he needed to be polite for anyone else.

He sat next to Silverbolt, out of arm reach and with his back to the wall. Silverbolt ignored him, his optics on the mechs in the rec room but his thoughts galaxies away. "Prowl said I had ta' ask you myself what the frag a 'Con officer is doin' on this ship," he said, not bothering to hide the snarl in his voice. He was fresh from the front where Decepticons were as common as rain; let the others think it was lingering anger from that. All the slag he'd gone through to get to the _Ark_ and this Pit-cursed officer was just going to walk aboard. He was very irritated. And a little scared. "Former" Decepticon or not, he might still pick up on Jazz. He had to figure out the mech's angle and quick and maybe get a note to Soundwave. If this was one of Starscream's ploys Megatron might actually kill his SIC once and for all.

Silverbolt's crimson optics slid to him, even in semi-darkness they glowed like fire and pain. In that moment he looked like every other officer onboard the _Nemesis_ , ruthless and calculating and Jazz had the hateful familiar feeling of being summed up in a glance; a small Polyhexian with an attitude. Not a threat, not an asset. Just an annoyance. He bared his teeth at Silverbolt and his fins partially rose. Silverbolt held his glare with his head tilted just enough to the side the dim light caught the sharp planes of his face making him look even more angular and sharp. He cut a striking figure even seated at a small metal table.

"Fireflight," he said at last. Jazz's attitude wavered. He remembered the juvenile Silverbolt came in with but that didn't tell him anything about why Silverbolt was sitting in the rec room of the _Ark_ instead of the brig. Jazz lifted his fins more. He didn't like the games Decepticon officers played on 'Con ships, he sure as frag wasn't going to put up with them on an Autobot ship. Silverbolt angered him even more when he snorted and turned back to the rec room, dismissing Jazz's threat.

He had a blade in his hand before he thought the action all the way through. He could slit the seeker's throat before he could get a wing up to stop him. It would be the last time Silverbolt ever laughed at a Poly. His own cover stayed his hand though. Prowl seemed to like the seeker and leaving him bleeding out on the rec room floor wouldn't be great for him or his self-imposed mission to get close to the command staff.

"I was a trainer in the Youth Sectors," Silverbolt said after a moment, clueless as to how close he was to his spark going out. His expression melted from its aloof glare to something blank and unreadable. Jazz stayed silent. He'd heard about the Youth Sectors, everyone had. The Youth Sectors were Megatron's genius and glitched plan to build an army, literally, from the cradle to the front lines. Mechlings and femmlings, orphans and unwanteds, taken to training camps where they learned to kill the same time they learned to read. The whole thing had collapsed after a couple decacycles though. But the ones that had joined the frontlines were almost as devoted to Megatron as Soundwave and that was creepy and impressive. So if Silverbolt had, had a hand in the downfall of the Youth Sectors maybe it was true he was seeking sanctuary among the Autobots. Megatron probably had a reward on his head high enough to feed a colony for a vorn.

"They weren't orphans, not all of them." Silverbolt continued softly. "Megatron said that to make the population more…manageable. If they knew the younglings in those camps had been taken from their homes and creators like a tax or tribute to the Decepticon army creators would have revolted. He was careful though. He only took them from the poorest colonies. Gave them food in exchange for their young." Silverbolt's words to that point had been soft and inflectionless. Like he was giving an after-action report. But his wavered when he next spoke. Not a lot, if Jazz hadn't been listening so hard trying to find a lie, he might not have heard it. "But the seekerlings and younglings from those colonies, they were so malnourished and sick…Megatron told us to only keep the ones worth training. The others would be sent back." He paused again, optics still on the room but no longer aware of the noisy mechs and femmes around them. "If the seekerlings' wings were stunted by their starvation, if the Gygaxians' horns were strong enough because of mineral deficiency, if the Simfurs' weren't strong enough, they were put back on a transport and the others we kept and trained."

He paused so long Jazz was about to open his mouth and ask if that was the end of the story, but Silverbolt started speaking again and that soft waver came back as his optics became even more distant. "They never sent them home. They took them out to barren moons and killed them all, dumped them in pits."

Jazz's head jerked back like Silverbolt had slapped him. His knee-jerk reaction was to deny anything like that could ever happen. Pit, they were in the middle of a war and mechs did things they didn't like, but they did that slag to adults. They did that to soldiers. No one had any reason to ever hurt a youngling.

Bluestreak and Bumblebee came galloping in to the rec room before he could do more than utter a sound that was either denial or a question. Bluestreak's battered little body ran through the crowd squeaking little Hellos to everyone he saw. Bluestreak wasn't an adult, and he sure as Pit wasn't a soldier. But here he was, the scars of war etched deeper in him than any of them. Jazz shut his mouth.

Silverbolt's optics came back to the present and watched Bluestreak and Bumblebee dart around. The lines on his face softened for only a second before spark-deep sorrow made him look centicycles older. "I put them on those transports. Strapped them in and made sure they would be safe for the trip. I told them they were going home to see their creators." He watched Red Alert and Springer come in and locate their tiny charges. Bluestreak bound over to Red Alert and stretched up both hands asking to be picked up. The severe Gygaxian didn't hesitate to lift the sparkling into his arms and hold him on his hip while he pulled out a bottle from subspace. "I thought they were going home," Silverbolt said as Bluestreak trilled with joy and took the bottle.

Jazz felt a little sick and knew why Prowl had told him to find Silverbolt. This wasn't a story anyone else could tell. It had to come from Silverbolt. The pain in his soft words, the memories swimming and drowning in his optics; no mech could look at him and think any word he spoke was a lie.

"One of the mechlings I put on a transport forgot his blanket. I asked my commanding officer if we could put it on another transport heading to that colony. He laughed. He told me to incinerate it. The mechling was already dead in some dark forgotten place." Silverbolt looked away from Bluestreak, looked at the floor. They were both silent for a long time while Bluestreak tried to eat and tell Red Alert a story at the same time.

"Did you get it back to him?" Jazz asked after the silence stretched, trying to keep the roughness out of his voice and failing. How could Decepticons pick up the dead after a battle, but toss younglings like trash?

Silverbolt was quiet for a long breem and then said. "I haven't found him yet." They were both silent again, Jazz no longer looking at the seeker but at the table. "I started hiding them," Silverbolt said still with a soft voice. "I…I couldn't take them all. But I tried, I tried to hide some of the ones who had creators to go back to." Agony and a thick wash of self-loathing filled that admission and Jazz had nothing to say. He'd been smarter than Jazz would've been in that situation. If he'd known anything like that was happening he would've torched the place and probably gotten himself and the younglings he was trying to save killed. "I hid the few I could and then I put the others on those transports and told them they were going home and for that neither Primus nor the Unmaker will ever forgive me."

"And then I found Fireflight," Silverbolt said, his wings moving, shifting closer to him like he was hugging himself. "He's an orphan, but he was…Bluestreak reminds me a lot of him. He was terrified but so…I don't know, joyful. I couldn't let him go. I couldn't put him on that transport. And he was the one they noticed missing. They had records of the ones they kept but never did much more than a cursory head count on the transport. That's how I could get away with hiding them. But his wings are so distinctive, someone remembered him and saw he wasn't on the transport, and when the other trainers said he'd been part of the cull they started looking for him." He let out a shuddering breath, sorrow being pushed aside and a thread of steal weaving through his voice. "I had been getting the younglings to another smuggling ring that got them out of Decepticon space into Autobot territory and then worked on getting their families to join them. I'd grabbed Fireflight at the last moment and didn't have time to update my number. When their transport arrived they didn't have room for him but promised to send another for him. That was when they found me. I took him and ran."

Like a wildfire coming through, Fireflight ran into the rec room a step behind the gold and red Twins. Laughing, he found Silverbolt almost immediately and ran over to him. Silverbolt pulled the young juvenile onto his lap and wrapped him in a tight embrace with arms and wings. Fireflight giggled and started telling Fireflight about something Sideswipe had done that was probably going to land him in the brig for two orns. Silverbolt listened with the same patient indulgence Prowl often listened to Bluestreak's nonsensical rambles. Silverbolt nuzzled the side of Fireflight's head as if the little mech was from his spark and not a little foundling.

Jazz watched and tried not to be obvious in his watching. He couldn't remember much of his creators. Most of his memories were of being hungry and hurt and running wild on the streets trying to stay alive. He thought though that was what creators were supposed to look like when they had their sparks safe in their arms. Like nothing else in the whole universe was more important that what was being said at that moment. And that was what sparks should sound like when they were with their creators, carefree and happy and secure in the knowledge that as long as their creator was right there with them nothing could hurt them.

Prowl came in, his silver wings catching the light and shimmering and getting everyone's brief attention. And then Bluestreak was yipping and squeaking and barreling toward the Praxian at full speed and jumped with his little wings extended like he was going to fly. Prowl smiled but if he laughed it was too quiet to hear and caught the sparkling wrapping him up in his arms and wings very much like Silverbolt had Fireflight. Pressing a kiss to the sparkling's head he kept his head tilted to the side listening to Bluestreak as he navigated the room to Red Alert speaking with Ironhide.

Jazz sat back next to Silverbolt and watched the rec room for the next couple of joors. He watched a tired looking Ratchet come in with First Aid hugging his neck and seeming to ask an endless stream of questions. And he saw Bumblebee bounce around with Springer before Trailbreaker came in and made a force field in the shape of a little ball for the youngling to kick around. And then First Aid joined the game and Bluestreak pounced on the ball and took off with it and the three tore around the rec room like little tornadoes trying to get it back. And when Blaster came in with Steeljaw trotting behind him Fireflight left Silverbolt's lap to snag the ball from First Aid and chuck it at the happily singing mech. Steeljaw caught it and a new game erupted with Blaster and the Twins and Trailbreaker and all the little mechs screeching and running and laughing.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** Hey-oh! Thank you for reading and reviewing!


	7. Chapter 7

_::Preparing to send signal::_

 _::Configuring::_

 _::Authenticating::_

 _::Transmission Signal Encryption Code: 191-521N-DW12-05::_

 _::Transmission Sender ID: Meister::_

 _::Transmission Receiver ID: Rumble::_

 _::Files being transferred::_

File Contents: Ark schematics; incomplete

File Contents: Ark Personnel file; incomplete

File Contents: Projected flight path

 _::Files Successfully Downloaded::_

 _::Disconnecting::_

 _::Signal Terminated::_


	8. Chapter 8

The small uninhabited planet they were on was like something from a holovid. Lush and green with a warm breeze and trees that towered high overhead with frothy founts of foliage. Low bushes with delicate lacy leaves and branches that were stronger than steel when he tried to bend a few of them out of the way. Flowering vines grew like quilts over the smaller trees and low growing shrubs adding a sweet perfume to the air. The small transmission rig he had was just small enough if he broke it down into enough pieces they could all be safely stored in his subspace. And with the dense vegetation a mech would have to be practically on top of him to see what he was doing. As it was, he was still paranoid of the bird song he heard overhead when he thought about Eject.

He took the rig apart in breems, and glanced around the quiet oasis he'd found. The pond beckoned him as fat insects buzzed along the flowers on the back and quicker more acrobatic ones skimmed the top of the water. Bluish fish shimmered beneath the surface chasing their own lunch. The scent of water and damp soil and flowers was like a breath of home. No symbionts or soldiers came bounding out of the greenery to arrest him so he let his shoulders relax. He had never been so stressed about a transmission in his life. And it was almost a kel late. Soundwave was probably irritated with him already but until he got a chance to actually talk to the TIC he had no way to explain what security was like.

Stashing the rig, he gave in to impulse and dove straight into the shimmering water scattering fish and bugs. The water closed over him and he dove down to the sandy bottom with easy kicks from his feet. A camouflaged predator felt him coming and the sandy bottom erupted as it hightailed it away from him. Grinning, he chased it for a few seconds before breaking off and surfacing. Flipping onto his back he stroked back to the shore staring up at the sunlight filtering down through the web of fronds. Animals chattered deeper in the trees and the water was just right, not too warm and not too cold.

It was perfect. Idly he wondered if Prowl would want to see the little pond. It was pretty and quiet. It seemed like a place the mech would enjoy. Shaking his head to clear the thoughts he spun and dove back down into the water to avoid thinking too much.

Prowl.

Prowl had been on his mind too much lately since he'd seen him in the rec room with Red Alert. The way his hand slid up Red Alert's horn as the mech bowed his head and the quiet reassurance in his voice when he spoke. Jazz let out a frustrated stream of bubbles and spun a corkscrew before shooting to the surface once more. He needed to get the mech out of his mind. He came up on the far side in the middle of broad leafed water plants in full bloom. Their scent made him sneeze but before he could stop it, the thought that Prowl would find them pretty slipped in. He tore off one of the blooms and crushed it before shoving it under the water to sink to the bottom and rot.

Dragging himself out of the water a few breems later he started his way back to the ship small dropship they'd brought down. He didn't want to be gone too long and have anyone wondering about him. Prowl was still on the _Ark_ doing something with Silverbolt and Jazz would have given his fins to be in that meeting, but it was locked down tight. As it was, he hadn't been able to find an excuse to stay onboard when Hound asked if he wanted to come planetside with a few others and the younglings. No mech in their right processor turned down a chance to get off ship, but he'd made the best of the situation by sending his overdue report to Soundwave. He'd dropped hints that he was going to go for a swim, but he'd been gone almost two joors already and it would take him half a joor to get back to the LZ.

The valley where they landed was breathtaking in its organic way. Bordered by high hills with jagged mountains cutting into the sky further out it was awash with flowers in summer bloom. The trees that speckled the valley floor Hound had enthusiastically told him looked like new growth; the valley had probably been swept up in a fire some time ago. Hound found it all very fascinating but, as a Polyhexian, Jazz's only interest in fire was how to keep it the frag away.

He expected to see mechs roaming all over the place but aside from a clump closer to the ship he didn't see or hear anyone enjoying the sun. There were still little tracks through the long grasses and flowers where the younglings had been running to and fro. Butterflies and other buzzing insects zipped and fluttered through the air. Jazz followed one track that zigged and zagged all over the valley, probably made by Bumblebee. Or maybe Hound. The old mech had a shorter attention span than his youngling when he was in a new green space.

The laughter he expected to hear from the group wasn't there and trepidation clinched his spark. He'd been very careful with his transmission. He'd waited until he knew Blaster's shift was over and used a short data burst. He didn't think anyone else on the _Ark_ besides Blaster would pick up the anomaly, but if he'd been wrong? He was glad he was still dripping from his swim, but if they searched him they'd find the rig.

Closer now he could hear one of the mechlings crying and the tension in his spark uncoiled. Then he cringed a little. He was happy one of the cheerful little mechs was upset? What if one of them was hurt? Shoving the stab of guilt aside he schooled his face into passive curiosity as he approached. None of the mechs or femmes was concerned with him, only glancing up to verify what their scanners were telling them. He kept some distance since the Twins looked like they were ready to hit someone and studied the others closely gauging body language.

Bluestreak huddled by the red twin's leg with fluid streaming from his optics and hiccupping. An Iaconian with delicate features crouched in front of him stroking his cheek trying to calm him. Jazz glanced around at the faces, Hound looked almost as upset as Bluestreak and the Twins looked like they were yet again ready to take on the Unmaker. Arcee and Moonracer alternated between glaring death at Hound and crooning softly to Bluestreak.

Behind him he heard the sharp click of a familiar step and his spark ran cold on principle. Pride kept him from outright admitting his trepidation around Red Alert was armor rattling fear. Prudent fear. While others were settling in with him, the red and grey mech still seemed to take exception to Jazz's existence.

In the sunlight among all the flowers and greenery, Red Alert looked like he belonged. His sharp horns echoed the towering spikes of mountains and his broad torso was strong and limber like the old growth trees surrounding the valley. He wasn't an urban Gygaxian. Jazz was beginning to wonder if any of the command—aside from the Prime who was Iaconian—had ever spent significant time in a city. They all had rugged, sharp edges with just enough civility covering them to keep from drawing energon. Here in the trees though, Red Alert's veneer wore thin. If not for the war, Red Alert would be the head of his own conclave; it was in every line of his body, the heavy alloy on his shoulders, and the fanged curve on his horns. He took in the scene with a flick of his optics and then looked at Sideswipe. "What happened?" There was no brokering with his tone. He was direct and unhesitating and well aware even if the Twins attacked him in tandem he had the strength and experience to pound them into scrap metal. And he didn't like Jazz. Not one bit.

Sideswipe bared his teeth, sharpened into unnatural points, and crossed his arms. " _Well_ , Blue was out here havin' the time of his little life chasin' butterflies until this glitch wandered out here." He stabbed a finger at Hound who made a barking sound in protest. "And now he's like this." All the mechs and femmes in the circle glared at Hound and he ducked his head, misery darkening his optics. Bluestreak continued to cry with such pain Jazz would have believed someone had died.

The delicate looking Iaconian stood with a suffering sigh. "Hound thought to make this a nature lesson and told Bluestreak the butterflies land on flowers to eat." His cultured voice and well-made armor made him look and sound like a model from an advertisement. "And now Bluestreak is having an existential crisis on the morality of chasing butterflies because he thinks he's been frightening them away from their food."

Red Alert didn't blink until everyone finished speaking. Bluestreak made a soft miserable sound and Red Alert turned his considerable focus on the sparkling. Kneeling next to Bluestreak he hoisted the sparkling into his arms but didn't stand. Bluestreak squeaked and dug his tiny claws into the grooves of Red Alert's armor snuggling close to the severe mech's spark sniffling. "Bluestreak, what's wrong?" he asked not changing the volume of his voice but the tone was gentler than he had used with the adults.

Bluestreak grabbed the end of his tiny wing and pulled it up to nibble on it. "Bad," he chirped. "I bad. Mean, I mean." He started to cry again but the little sounds were muffled by the wing he still had against his mouth. "Monster, bad monster." The Twins looked like they were ready to tear someone's spark chamber out. Their optics darkened to ocean blue and flashed red. Now they looked like every still he'd ever seen of them, sans being covered in energon.

"You are not bad or mean and certainly not a monster, Bluestreak," the cultured mech said softly. Arcee and Moonracer shot murderous looks at Hound who seemed to slowly be sinking to the ground under the combined weight of their anger.

"Bluestreak," Red Alert said in the same gentle tone, his fingers pulling Bluestreak's wing out of his mouth. "Think of this field as a dispensary for butterflies, you understand they come here to eat, yes?" The sparkling clicked and made a grab for his wing again but Red Alert blocked him saying, "Now, you often go to the _Ark_ 's dispensary but you don't always eat when you are there. You meet with the Twins or First Aid and Bumblebee and then you play games." Bluestreak sniffled and his tears slowed but fluid still shimmered on the surface of his optics. "Reasonably," Red Alert said, "butterflies will use their field of flowers in the same manner. So I'm certain the butterflies you were playing with earlier have finished eating and are looking to play a game." Bluestreak clicked and looked up at Red Alert hopefully and then back at the field where the butterflies were still fluttering to and fro.

"Play?" Bluestreak asked.

Red Alert set him on the ground and kept his hands close for an extra second while the sparkling found his balance. "Yes," he said with the same lack of inflection he always had. "Go make friends." Bluestreak's tiny wings stretched and he yipped before scampering back into the field of flowers. The other adult mechs watched him go with mouths slightly open.

Red Alert stood and swung his head to focus a cool stare on Hound. Gygaxian frames couldn't fully straighten their backs because of how the alloy and cables connected to their struts. The slight hunch could make them seem smaller than they were, or, in Red Alert's case, accentuate the heavy alloy on his shoulders and also leave his horns lowered just enough to be a threat. The old green mech cringed a little. "Anymore nature lessons today, Hound, and I will use you as bait to catch whatever large predator is lurking off the coast." He did a sharp aboutface and walked back into the ship with quick precise steps.

Bluestreak roamed through the tall grasses and flowers chattering joyfully as he scattered butterflies and chased them until they fluttered too high to catch. "Well," Jazz said looking around.

Sideswipe snorted. "You got that right. I never would'a thought of that."

The cultured mech put a dainty long fingered hand over his optics and slowly shook his head. "I swear, he's the only sparkling that thinks he can be cruel to butterflies." Jazz watched the sparkling gallop around in the flowers squeaking happily, the tiny arches of his wings sometimes the only things visible. An unfamiliar feeling crossed his face and he realized he was smiling, actually smiling not smirking or baring his teeth.

"He's too cute," he said before he could stop himself. He cringed as soon as the words were out of his mouth feeling like he'd have to set the meadow on fire if he wanted to maintain his reputation. "Primus, did I say that out loud?"

The cultured mech laughed softly. "He is an absolute joy. Mirage by the way, you're the new mech?" Mirage. _The_ Mirage? An excited shiver ran down Jazz's back just like he'd gotten the first time he saw Wheeljack. If he could take Mirage out of the picture, Autobot intelligence would be crippled, maybe even completely destroyed. Megatron wanted the mech for his own forces but looking at him now, Jazz knew the Decepticons would never get him. He looked like ripples of sunlight on water, his armor light blues and diamond white that glittered in the sunlight. Jazz couldn't see him walking down the corridors of the _Nemesis_.

"Jazz," he answered easily. "Does he have these crises often? 'Cause I got no clue how to fix them like that." He had started to pick up on the feeling of the mechs and femmes on the _Ark_ that, no matter what, they were Autobots to the end. He'd found on the frontlines he could pick out the ones in a unit who might be swayed with proper motivation to help out the Decepticon cause. But not here. Not on this ship. Not even tempermental Cliffjumper gave any indication that even though he fought his comrades as often as he did Decepticons that he would ever bow to Megatron.

Mirage shrugged one shoulder, the least elegant thing he'd done since Jazz saw him. "Off and on, sometimes it's an easy fix like this, sometimes it's harder." Despite the blasé gesture his soft voice was serious. "We try to shelter them from things like the ravaged colonies, the burial pods, everything this war is, but some things get through." The mech watched Bluestreak crisscrossing through the field chasing anything and everything moving. "That's always hard, hard to explain, hard for them to understand and sometimes it makes his nightmares worse." Jazz had heard hints of Bluestreak's nightmares but no one had ever given him more than a sigh and a sad look when he asked about them.

"They that bad?" he asked. Mirage watched Bluestreak scamper and pounce and roll in the fragrant grass with a smile that was more pain than happiness.

"He's too young for the horrors he's seen," he said softly. "Bluestreak," he called when the sparkling started to chase a stray insect too close to the shadowy trees. The tiny sparkling stopped and looked back at the adults before chirping and obediently scampering back into the light.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** This is actually one of the first scenes I wrote for this story. Baby Blue is just the best little character to write.

ENJOY THE HAPPINESS WHILE YOU CAN

*Maniacal laughter*

And with that, thank you for reading and reviewing!


	9. Chapter 9

The _Ark_ cut a path through the planet's ring of icy rock. Jazz stood shoulder to shoulder with heavy frontliners on a dropship ready for deployment. Prowl stood closest to the door, wings tucked back out of the way and swaying easily with the bumps and jerks of the ship. Ratchet stood next to him with his characteristic scowl etched on his face. Wedged between Inferno and Trailbreaker Jazz hardly moved as the _Ark_ 's engines rumbled with reversal as it slowed. In the cockpit Blaster's voice crackled over the line giving Cosmos and his femme copilot the go ahead to launch. Before the clearance codes were even finished the ship was moving.

It was ridiculous, but once the dropship was free of the _Ark_ , Jazz felt a little less claustrophobic. Outside the yawning darkness of space stared back at him but the planet—home to colony Strata D-12—was a bright spot ahead of them. There was no friendly chatter as there usually was during descent. Even Trailbreaker's affable face was blank and cold as the ship hit full speed for descent.

The distress call had come in less than a septorn ago and Jazz didn't know why the _Ark_ was in such a hurry. The Decepticons were well away by now but they were coming in to the colony like there was still a fight to be had. He didn't say anything though or question the dispatch speed. Silverbolt was still onboard and if he overheard the questions or someone relayed them the seeker might start thinking things that could get Jazz killed.

He kept an optic on Prowl as the dropship began to slow for orbital entry. The Praxian stared at the metal door, face expressionless and wings still folded back politely so he wouldn't bump anyone. His slender frame looked smaller pressed in with the heavy alloyed frontliners. But, while Starscream looked delicate when compared with the big bruisers on Decepticon frontlines, Prowl was more like a dagger. Not as intimidating as a great broad sword, but more capable at slipping between armor plates and into spark chambers. Ratchet standing next to him like the incarnation of fire and wrath only solidified the quiet hum of danger around them.

Turbulence hit the dropship hard as they came into the atmosphere and the fiery glow outside the windows subsided to cool misty clouds. They punched through that in no time and the passengers were jostled again as the ship leveled off and slowed fast for landing. Racing below were swaths of pretty green rolling hills and a few patches of sparkling blue water. The ship descended faster and the hills became bigger, closer to mountain sized with clusters of color from trees and bushes.

Jazz blinked when the colony came into view. What was left of it. A second layer of soot black clouds covered the jagged remains of buildings. Fires still glowed like embers in ash in some of the piles. It was hard to tell where streets had been or if he was looking at a residential district or commercial. He tried to think of what the Strata D-12's exports were and drew a blank. It didn't look like a mining colony, but then again, it didn't look like much of anything now. Shooting a quick glance around the others remained as stoic as they had been since loading. Not one optic flickered in surprise even as the ruins came closer and the smoke thicker and darker and bodies became visible under the ash.

The ship touched down on the line separating the scorched city from the verdant grassland and finally Prowl spoke, "Stay with your squads. Avoid moving rubble until engineers can confirm stability. Base camp will be established here." The words were without inflection and he didn't look back as the heavy doors slid open. Smoke and ash swirled in and Jazz coughed to clear his intakes. Ratchet walked out without hesitation and strode toward the jagged skyline. Prowl stood off to the side watching all the mechs and femmes disembark with sharp optics, like they were under inspection. Jazz blanked his face and squared his shoulders. He wouldn't have Prowl thinking he couldn't handle one bombed out city. Polyhex had gone through its share of strafing runs.

The day was warm and if not for the stench of burning buildings and ash swirling in the air it would have been a pleasant trip. Prowl waited for the other two dropships landing not far from them but Jazz's assigned squad kept moving.

Jazz did admire how the squads were set up with one mech from security and one mech from fire the fire team and a secondary medic on each team. They were self-contained search and rescue units with a pair of heavy frontliners and a pair of smaller lighter mechs to round it out. Each squad was prepared to get survivors out of pretty much any situation. Jazz was paired up with another small mech named Brawn who looked like he was capable of moving a building all by himself. He led the pack into the desolate city next to Springer. Pacing him was by far the most incredible mech he'd ever seen.

He'd thought at first the mech was some kind of predacon and had his audios set aflame with the most polite dressing down he'd ever received. A quadruped, Sky Lynx stood almost as tall as Jazz and had a heavy pair of wings arching over his back. Lithe as a sand tiger in body, he had the head and powerful beak of some kind of bird of prey. Lashing behind them as he padded through the ash was a powerful tail with a scythe tip sharp enough to cut with just a look. In mech form he had to stand as tall, or taller, than Optimus Prime. It was a wonder Jazz had never heard of the mech and, like Blurr, it made him nervous that the Autobots could keep such an impressive mech off the radar.

Behind him was a femme from the fire team, Firestar who hadn't said a word and had only given him a curt nod when introduced. She reminded him quite a bit of Red Alert with her heavy silence, but given the destruction of the colony he thought he understood why she wasn't much for words right now. Flanking her was a quiet mech who'd only stared at Jazz when he'd introduced himself. Trailbreaker said the mech's name was Searchlight, from the security team. His quick optics didn't miss much of anything so even though he didn't seem to take much of an interest in Jazz, Jazz kept an optic on him. And rounding them out was a small medic named Beta. She stuck close to Firestar and Searchlight and also kept quiet.

Nothing moved in the ash, the wind whistled and moaned through the rubble fanning embers to flames on the harder gusts. The group slowly drifted apart spanning the width of what had been a street so it was easier to avoid the bodies. Energon, internal fluids, and ash mixed into a tacky sludge that couldn't be avoided and soon covered his feet no matter how carefully he stepped. Beta drifted past Jazz, her optics flashing sky blue as she continuously scanned for spark signatures. Searchlight's bright white armor was already streaked with grey and black as the wind continued to brush soot over them.

Silence stretched over the city and began to erode Jazz's confidence. He knew there were other teams searching the city, he'd seen the grids everyone was assigned to. But there was no noise. There were no voices calling for help, no crying, no screaming. Only the wind's soft sighs and wails and the ragged breath of fire disturbed the suffocating quiet. Polyhex had gone through its share of bombings but it had never been hit this hard. Certainly mechs had died and buildings had come down, but here there were hardly buildings to look at. There were piles of rubble and twisted metal footings that marked where buildings had once stood. And still, three orns removed from the initial SOS there were bodies in the street sprawled out where they had died. As if there weren't enough left alive to clear them away.

They came to a cross street and Brawn paused with Springer and Sky Lynx for half a breem staring straight ahead. Jazz glanced around trying to find anything to orient by but the street signs were blackened and twisted and embers glowed in the heaps of stone and metal all around them. Sky Lynx looked over his shoulder and Beta stepped forward. She took a deep breath and nodded once. Brawn and Springer started walking again but Sky Lynx didn't move until Beta was next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder as they walked together. One wing, streaked with sky blue and sun yellow, unfurled enough to cover her shoulders.

He thought the display odd until they got further down the street. There was a marked difference in the rubble here. Behind them were desks and electronics and other evidence of commerce. On this street there were couches and small tables. Toys. Some of the bodies half-buried in the rubble were only partially dressed, as if they'd just started their orn when the bombs and fire tore through. A youngling lay in the street still holding her school bag. Jazz shied from her, an uneasy feeling in his tanks. Adults he could handle. He'd seen plenty of soldiers dead, had seen plenty of them die, but there was wrongness in seeing a youngling in a dried pool of energon.

The memory of Blaster's soft voice the first orn he'd been on the ship pricked at him. _"Like, it's not just soldiers that get shot, it's mechs who are out with friends or they're at home asleep."_ Jazz stepped around a bodiless arm and glanced up at a wall still half standing with burned up couch still against it. Covered in rubble a mech was still curled protectively around a muddog, leash still held tight in his hand.

The already quiet group quieted further the deeper into the residential district they moved. Jazz stopped looking around after seeing only half a juvenile. Blaster's voice wouldn't leave him be. _"All those little bodies."_ He didn't want to see any more. He was ready to go back to the _Ark_ and be done with the colony.

The longer they twisted down the streets his queasiness shifted to anger. It was clear no one was alive on the colony so why were they down in the ash and fire looking. It was a waste of time. "What are we looking for?" he snapped. He was as surprised by his voice as the others. His hand twitched and he crossed his arms coming to a standstill. "It's pretty obvious nothing out here is alive, what the frag are we doing?" His arms trembled a little and it felt a little hard to breathe as he stood there watching the others. To his left the remains of a modest playground twisted around small bodies and larger adult frames. He refused to look any closer at it, keeping his optics forward. He didn't want to see. _"You can't say you're gonna drop some plasfire and only hit adults, you get everyone."_

Beta looked at him carefully and in a soft clear voice said, "Go back to base camp." The words were gentle but carried the tenor of an order, not a suggestion. He bristled. He wasn't taking orders from a secondary medic that wasn't even squad leader. "Jazz," she said still using her soft voice that didn't disturb the crypt silence around them. "Do you know why you're upset right now?"

"What?" He had no idea what kind of psycho-babble slag the femme was on about but the middle of a street surrounded by bodies was really not a good time for him to analyze his feelings. She didn't answer him just watched him with a knowing patience that further irritated him. His arms trembled again and he tightened his grip on them. "We're wandering through a fragging graveyard looking for what? There aren't even birds here, there's nothing left," he snapped. Whoever issued the search and rescue orders was glitched as far as he was concerned. They were just meandering through a colony turned crematorium looking at corpses. _"All those little bodies."_ But she'd given him an out. She'd told him to go back to base camp. He tried to think of why he was arguing instead of hightailing back to the dropship.

He blinked soot from his optics. It still felt too hard to breathe but the particles in the air weren't dense enough to cause problems with his filters. His body was too hot and his systems running close to battle readiness. He forced himself to take a deep breath and his arms trembled again. Why was he upset? The longer he thought about Beta's question the more he realized he didn't have a concrete answer. It was a mess of feelings he'd never dealt with in such high doses. He was angry and sick and hot and ready to scream or punch something. He wanted to kick the bodies on his peripherals; kick them out of the way and out of sight. He didn't want to see them anymore. He was sick of seeing them. He wanted them gone. His arms trembled again and he dug his claws into his armor wishing they could pierce it and dig into his exoform. He needed a distraction. He needed something to keep his mind away from the charred bodies off to the side. He needed something to redirect his focus away from the stench of burned energon and spilled internals baking in the heat.

"Go back to base camp," Beta said again.

Jazz slunk into base camp like a beaten animal. He expected there to be more activity to cover his entrance but the camp was barren. He didn't see any civilians. He didn't even see a medical tent set up. It was just the three drop ships spread out and a collapsible table with a holographic map of the colony on it. It was all the more humiliating because he was the only one coming back. He considered turning around and heading back to his squad but at least one of the mechs had to have seen him walking up. He didn't see Prowl or Ratchet and considered digging his own grave so he wouldn't have to talk to Ironhide or, worse yet, the fragging Prime.

Pulling together what pride he had left he walked up to the group of officers around the map. "Beta told me to return to base camp," he said, each word like a tooth being pulled. He should have kept his mouth shut and just gone along with his squad. Ironhide didn't say anything just nodded and pointed to the dropship he'd come in on. Well, at least he could hide so not everyone would see him when they finally came back from their search. His fins flicked up and then back when the Prime himself handed him a canister of water. It took him a couple seconds but he reached out and took it with quiet thanks that he hardly heard.

 **oOo**

It took two joors after returning to the _Ark_ for Jazz to stop scrubbing his feet and legs. Even in the cool water, his exoform was hot and raw from the constant scraping. He limped out of the washracks to his berth and sat down. Prowl had discreetly switched his shift which made his mood swing wildly from relief to embarrassed anger. He wanted to storm down to Prowl's office and demand he put the schedule back how it was but also wanted to curl up in the bath and die of mortification. One bombed out city shouldn't have fragged with his head like it did, was.

He sat on the berth feeling silence settle around him, heavy and thick. Even the perpetual hum of the engines didn't disturb the quiet that felt like it was staring at him. Rubbing his face he dropped his head and looked at his feet, feet that had been caked with internals and energon and ash. His toes twitched and he thought about going back to the washracks and washing them one more time just to be certain everything was gone.

Shaking his head he forced himself to stand and made a short whistling call Polyhexians used to tell each other they were ready. There was no answering whistle, not that he expected one, but the silence didn't break up either. Even with that short sharp whistle it stayed close like hands curling around his neck.

Distraction. He needed a good distraction for a joor and then he could come back and nap. His growling tanks provided him with a good excuse. He could hit the dispensary and see what trouble was brewing in the rec room. Maybe someone would have one of the holovid games up. The racing games were always a disaster and a half and put everyone but the player in a good mood. Feeling a bit more like himself he grabbed his armor and snapped it into place.

If he put it on a little faster than he usually did and darted from his too quiet room with more speed than necessary, then he told himself it was because he was hungry.

Jazz walked into the rec room with his head low, having forgotten in his dash to the dispensary that he'd left the destroyed colony with his tail between his legs. Hound and Mirage, still streaked with ash disinterestedly sipping their energon reminded him of it. They didn't seem to notice him, their optics focused on the wall but their gazes turned inward.

His hope of finding anyone feeling upbeat waned as he sipped his own ration. There wasn't even any music playing. The quiet had become unnerving to the point he'd chugged the rest of his ration and slunk down the hall to the rec room. His optics stayed on his feet until frightened squeaks broke through his self-absorbed thoughts. Jerking his head up he found the source of the squeaks under a table. Bluestreak huddled under a table close to the wall with optics nearly white with fear. Other frontliners were cooing softly to the little sparkling trying to calm him while Red Alert crouched by the wall and called Bluestreak to him.

Red Alert coaxed the sparkling out from under the table into his arms. Burrowing into his chest Bluestreak both tried to hide and watch everyone walking into the room. "Monsters?" he yipped. Ducking his head he let out another small trill of fear. Red Alert didn't stand but sat against the wall cradling the sparkling in his arms. "Monsters coming," Bluestreak wailed. His vocalizer stuttered and he curled into the smallest tightest ball Jazz had ever seen.

"No," Red Alert said stroking between his wings. "The monsters are gone. They are not here." Bluestreak hid his head against Red Alert's chest and let out a string of gibberish. Tiny claws left hairline scratches on Red Alert's chest plates and Bluestreak squeaked and chirped trying to hide more of himself in Red Alert's arms. "Nothing will harm you." Red Alert spoke the words like they'd been promised by Primus himself. Even Jazz believed there was nothing in the universe that was getting past that Gygaxian to Bluestreak, not even a virus.

"Where P'owl?" Bluestreak squeaked. "Where my sire? I want P'owl." Fluid tracked down his face as he searched each face walking into the room. The longer Prowl was absent the more frantic he became even held secure in Red Alert's arms. Red Alert showed no outward reaction to the tiny breakdown happening in his arms. Pulling the sparkling up closer to his spark he wiped away Bluestreak's tears and let the sparkling cling to his hand like a safety blanket. The frontliners settled on the floor near Bluestreak with tired sighs but didn't try talking to him. Their positions, even on the floor, were defensive and ready for a fight.

Jazz eased himself down into a table between Red Alert and the door. He might have curled up on the floor but Red Alert was watching everyone that came within spitting distance and he didn't think the Gygaxian would welcome him. Bluestreak hiccupped and cried, his little voice dissolving into sniffles and chirps and gibberish as he searched for Prowl. Jazz started watching the door with Bluestreak waiting for Prowl to come in.

He was one spark wrenching cry away from going to track down Prowl himself when the Praxian swept into the rec room. There was no hesitation in his step, no polite nods of greeting. Stepping over and around frontliners sprawled out on the floor he walked straight to Red Alert and Bluestreak as if the room was empty. Bluestreak exhausted from crying but too frightened to fall into recharge reached for him with a fresh round of tears. Sliding to his knees Prowl pulled Bluestreak into his arms with murmured words Jazz couldn't hear. The sparkling's terrified cries began to subside the moment he was in Prowl's arms. Red Alert didn't have any reaction even though he'd been trying to soothe the spark for half a joor.

When Bluestreak's hiccups quieted to recharging clicks Prowl pressed a kiss to his head and held him even closer for a second. Red Alert watched them impassively, but didn't stand up like Jazz thought he would. Slowly Prowl twisted around and curled up next to Red Alert with his head on the severe mech's leg keeping his wings wrapped securely around his sparkling. Much like he'd done with Bluestreak, Red Alert stroked the back of Prowl's head down between his wings. Jazz stared, surprise momentarily pulling him out of his complicated mood. It was well known all winged frames were sensitive between their wings. He didn't know of any seekers that allowed unwinged mechs to touch them there. Prowl's optics closed though and he didn't make any move to throw Red Alert off. The other frontliners on the floor also relaxed from battle readiness and dropped into a light recharge while Bluestreak clicked softly in Prowl's arms.

Jazz slid out of his chair and walked to the door with all the stealth he had. The rec room stayed quiet. No holovids or games or cards or bets disrupted the blanket of silence. Glancing back he watched the others recharge for a moment. It wasn't a scene that would ever play out in the Decepticon ranks. Not on the _Nemesis_ or a base or even an outpost. Big scarred mechs and femmes lay close enough to each other to touch but not to impede drawing a blade or blaster. The semi-circle protected the Autobot SIC who was curled like a sparkling himself against their security director holding safe in his arms a tiny sparkling. He tried to imagine Starscream, or any Decepticon, so completely at ease in recharge surrounded by others and couldn't. Red Alert's hand stroked down Prowl's back again between his wings and Prowl didn't stir.

Jazz wandered through the maze of halls watching his feet, trying to think. He didn't tag cameras or snap stills of doors or joints. He hardly kept track of the turns he made. There were Autobots on the _Ark_ Megatron wanted so much he might actually trade Soundwave for just one of them. Mechs like Wheeljack and Mirage. But Jazz couldn't see goofy, scatter-processored Wheeljack walking through the halls of the _Nemesis_ with Shockwave discussing new theories or equations like he did with the other science officers on the _Ark_. And Mirage, that mech screamed of high class upbringing, like Starscream, but family wealth was where their similarities began and ended. A whisper of sorrow surrounded the mech like an extra layer of polish on his armor. Sitting in the dispensary with Hound he hadn't looked out of place covered in soot, the devastation of the colony felt like it aligned with that ingrained sadness.

So it seemed it was for the best the Autobots lose. They were miserable as it was and so desperate they were digging through a razed colony for survivors. It was a waste of resources. They could have been working on tracking down the Decepticon ship that attacked the colony, but they were wasting time in orbit. Sighing, he shook his head and finally lifted his head. Either luck was with him or his subconscious was taking good care of him because he recognized the hall he was in and started winding his way back to his quarters.

He keyed open the door and silent darkness greeted him. He balked for a few seconds. The stillness and ash dark blackness beyond the spear of hallway light scattered what little equilibrium he'd managed to find. He thought of Prowl curled up with Red Alert. It was probably warmer in the rec room than his quarters. He didn't have to settle in right next to the frontliners, he was small enough he could curl up next to the wall without encroaching.

Forcefully shaking his head he stepped into his quarters and shut the door on the hall light, leaving him in darkness.

 **oOo**

He thought he'd be able to take a short nap and start piecing together his next report for Soundwave but the silence wouldn't let him be, even when he turned on some music. Anxious energy had him pacing around his room until the circles started to make him dizzy. It was well into fourth shift and he was regretting not asking Prowl to reinstate his shift for the night.

Without giving it much thought he slapped the door controls and bolted from the dark quiet room. He didn't know where he was going but he couldn't stay caged in his room with only his thoughts to keep him company. He started roaming, not caring if Red Alert caught him. He needed space from his thoughts, from his dreams, from all the complicated messy feelings writhing inside him. Anger and nausea kept his body and spark off kilter. He didn't know what he was angry at. He didn't know what to do to make the sick feeling go away.

He looked up when he realized he had stopped in front of a pair of semi-familiar doors. Med bay. Maybe Ratchet could give him something to calm him down. For once not caring if the medic took a piece out of him he opened the door and walked in. Maybe if he annoyed Ratchet enough the medic would crack him with a wrench and put him down and out for an orn.

He thought he'd have to look for Ratchet but he saw the medic as soon as he walked in. Jazz warranted only a glance before the medic was back to his primary patient. Prowl's wings caught the partial lighting and reflected back like slices of sunlight. Sitting on a berth between them Bluestreak sniffled while he colored. Jazz's steps slowed and he approached with more caution.

Neither Ratchet nor Prowl paid him any attention. Prowl looked exhausted as he watched his sparkling color on the berth. A gentle hand rested between the sparkling's tiny wings and when Bluestreak scooted closer to him Prowl put an arm around him being careful not to disrupt his drawing. "Do you feel better, Bluestreak?" Ratchet asked in a soft voice. Bluestreak didn't stop coloring or even look at the medic. Sighing, both adults lapsed into silence once more. Prowl pressed a kiss to his sparkling's head.

Jazz stopped still two berths away, curious about what was happening but everything about Ratchet's and Prowl's body language screamed for him to stay away. Bluestreak colored in silence for several more breems before he finally put his stylus down and looked up at Prowl. "Monster go 'way now," he said.

Prowl kissed him again and reached for the pad, "Ready?" he murmured.

Bluestreak gave a firm nod. "Go away!" he chirped with more venom that Jazz had ever heard from him. He blinked in surprise. If he'd been asked he would've told anyone that Bluestreak didn't know what anger was. But those two words were imbued with a depth of fear and fury that could put adult mechs to shame.

"No more monsters," Prowl said softly. "Do you want to recharge now? I'll be right here with you. I'll keep you safe." Pressing his forehead against Bluestreak's he closed his optics and the soft words took on the weight of a vow.

Bluestreak pushed the pad to Ratchet like it was infected with rust and snuggled against Prowl. "No more monsters?" he asked looking at Ratchet for verification.

Ratchet stroked his cheek. "No more monsters," he agreed, his rough voice left no room for denial. Bluestreak curled as much of his body as he could against Prowl's spark and clicked softly. Prowl hummed a soft tune and the sparkling's tiny body slowly relaxed into recharge.

The adults remained quiet, Ratchet's optics flashing as he occasionally scanned the sparkling and Prowl's optics closed as he held his sparkling. "He's not drawn this before," Ratchet said once it was clear Bluestreak was deep enough in recharge their voices wouldn't wake him. The medic held the pad up for Prowl to see. Jazz tried to catch sight of what it was without being obvious about it. The pair were still ignoring him, but if Ratchet thought he was being a nuisance that could change in a sparkbeat.

"He has," Prowl disagreed. "I remember the blue. It's been awhile though. I think it was one of the first he showed us." Ratchet frowned as he looked at the picture and then at the sparkling. Jazz was certain they'd have to put "Curiosity" as his Cause of Death as Ratchet tapped the datpad's screen a few times and then started swiping like he was looking for something. After a breem the medic heaved an annoyed sigh and took the datpad over to a console where he could plug it in.

Screens hummed to life and an index of rough drawings lit up the wall. Jazz felt his mouth drop open as he looked at them. The drawings he'd seen Bluestreak do with the Twins were always of flowers or fish or other pretty things he saw with bright splashes of color and a vibrancy or life. They made even the windowless rec room feel bigger, brighter. The joie de verve was in each pen stroke. Jazz could look at any one of Bluestreak's pictures and hear his happily chattering, squeaking voice.

But not these pictures. These pictures were dark. They were smudged with fire oranges and ash blacks and painful red and a blue the shade of freshly spilled energon. Jazz rocked back. There was no life in the pictures, no pretty butterflies or leaves or flowers. Every picture echoed the colony he'd left. There were pictures with jagged black shapes splashed with engergon blue, others with lines of orange that might be fire. But no matter the background colors, dominating the center of each picture were two optics the exact shade of Decepticon crimson.

It was impossible to tell what else was in the pictures, but those optics were undeniable and, even more disturbing, they were consistent. Of the dozens of pictures now projected on the wall the shape and size never changed. No matter what scribbled mess the background was, the optics stared out and even done by a sparkling's hand the hate in them was palpable.

"There," Prowl murmured, using a wing instead of his arm to gesture at a picture further down the wall. Ratchet walked over to it and dragged over what had to be the newest drawing. The first drawing was more colors than anything, like an impressionist nightmare. But there were definite similarities between the two. The smudge of blue in the first drawing was clearer in the new drawing as energon splatter against dark armor. Jazz's arms trembled. The first drawing only the optics were clear but the second, the new one, a face was clearer. The background was orange and yellow and black like flames and smoke.

Jazz spun on his heel and left the med bay. He could feel the optics staring at him as he walked out. He didn't stop until he got back to his quarters and when the door shut behind him he stared into the dark room trying not to think.

 **oOo**

After a long night of too much thinking Jazz dodged the crowded dispensary and kept his head low. He was content to get through his morning routine without speaking to anyone for the rest of the orn until Wheeljack blew past him at a sprint. The speed of his approach kicked on a few of Jazz's proximity sensors and he fell against the wall to get out of the way. He wasn't the only one. Exhausted mechs and femmes yelped and jumped out of the way as the Kalisian blew past and stared after him in bewilderment. "What?" he asked the closest mech who shrugged.

Wheeljack didn't come back and movement in the hall slowly resumed until the next cross hall. Silverbolt strode past, every step ringing with authority and purpose. Most didn't even turn around to see who was coming up behind them like the Unmaker they moved out of the way through habit. Sharp ruby optics darted back and forth like he had lost something. Jazz watched him until he had to turn a corner. A bad feeling began to nibble at him but he couldn't put a definite reason to it. Wheeljack's erratic behavior was easy to shrug off, but he'd never seen Silverbolt move with such speed and intensity.

Going against his better judgement he turned and followed the seeker, jogging a little to keep up with is long strides. "Did we find someone?" Jazz asked softly with an unexpected small jagged sliver of hope in his spark.

Silverbolt glanced at him, ruby optics the same color as Bluestreak had drawn. He shook his head once and didn't elaborate, mouth set in a thin line. No Fireflight trotted behind him which was a little unusual, but the juvenile was old enough he divided his time between the younger recruits like Bumblebee and the Twins and his guardian.

Jazz didn't give up after the borderline dismissal. "Are the 'Cons coming back?" he asked. This time the light of hope in his spark was sharp and fiery. He tried to avoid killing as many of his faction as he could since deep cover double agents made the higher ups paranoid about traitors turning traitor. In this instance though, he'd enjoy extinguishing a few sparks.

"No, they have no reason to return," Silverbolt said with an implied 'idiot' at the end of that short statement. Jazz fought back a scowl and stayed right on the seeker's heels. He wanted to know what was happening and since Silverbolt didn't have any rank, he couldn't very well tell him what to do. Silverbolt glared at him and Jazz gave him a wide opticked innocent look. The former Con also knew he had no authority over Jazz and continued walking with a low growl vibrating his chest.

They walked to a less crowded hall that connected the medical and science wings. Wheeljack was already there pacing as much as he could with his long legs in the narrow hall. Perceptor was also there looking as anxious as Jazz had ever seen him which meant he was shifting his weight and wringing his hands. Prowl stood with a lightly recharging Bluestreak in his arms looking like he needed another few joors of recharge. Jazz recognized the expression as one he'd seen on the Praxian several times. It was rare he went more than two septorns without that dead tired look in his optics and Jazz's spark kicked a little. How many nightmares did Bluestreak have in a given night?

Ignoring Jazz, Silverbolt said, "He is not in the rec room or with Fireflight, Twins have also said they haven't seen him this orn." Standing next to Prowl, Red Alert zeroed in on Jazz during Silverbolt's report. Jazz wanted to run, but a recalcitrant part of his processor that was fed up with his unrestful night and Silverbolt, stepped up to the challenge and he stayed right where he was.

Jazz looked around at the assembled mechs. "Did…did we forget someone on the colony?" he asked cautiously. The _Ark_ had a big crew, but he couldn't imagine anyone could go missing more than a few joors without someone commenting on it. Unlike the _Nemesis_ , sometimes mechs could go missing for orns before anyone realized it, and that was because they'd complain about covering their shift.

Prowl shook his head once. "First Aid is missing," he answered in a quiet voice. Jazz blinked and all of the complicated thoughts he'd been wrestling with were buried under an avalanche of fear.

"Missing? How?" he asked working to keep his voice even. "It's a fraggin' big ship, maybe he took a wrong turn." He had sincerely gotten lost several times since coming aboard.

Wheeljack's optics were ice blue and his fins alternated flashing orange and white so fast they hurt Jazz's optics. "He was with me when I left the dispensary. I know it, I was carrying him. I had him. I told him I had to leave him with Perceptor for a joor while I finished some work. _I had him_." Short panicky breaths punctuated the words. Prowl said something in surprisingly fluent Kalisian but Jazz was unfamiliar with the dialect. Wheeljack pressed his palms against his optics and nodded, releasing a huff of hot air.

Red Alert remained the only one not outwardly concerned by the situation. "What time did you leave him with Perceptor?" he asked in a flat voice. Jazz glanced around the group again and realized there was no imposing Ahnkmorian to round out Red Alert's hostility. Frowning he turned up his sensor net hoping to pick up his voice. Maybe he'd gotten tied up in med bay or Wheeljack was trying not to get the Ahnkmorian involved since he seemed to have _lost_ his sparkling.

"0930," Perceptor said.

At the same time Wheeljack said, "0925." The two scientists stared at each other in silence for a long breem. Red Alert turned back to the console and jumped through half a dozen security codes before pulling up the relative security feed. Jazz only caught flashes and glimpses of the security screens but, Primus, no wonder Soundwave had a Pit of a time getting into Autobot systems.

"0925?" Perceptor said at last. "But I saw you, I remember checking the time, it was 0930." His aquamarine optic paled almost as white as the other. "I saw you go by at 0930."

"Your door was open, I saw you fiddling with one of your samples!" Wheeljack said, "I gave him his puzzle box and told him you'd be done in a few breems. He sat right by the door, it was 0925, I glanced at the chronometer above your flora specimens."

"He left Perceptor's lab at 0927" Red Alert said breaking up the terrified conversation. He exited the security footage and started walking down the hall with his usual brisk pace. "And went to the hangar. He stowed away on dropship TD-33."

Jazz hissed in lieu of yelping. "He's somewhere at the fraggin' _colony_?"

At the same time Wheeljack made a strangled sound. "He went with Ratchet?"

"I have informed Ratchet and Inferno's team has been redirected to search for him," Prowl said with only a thread of tension in his voice. "Hound and Steeljaw will meet us in the hangar. Wheeljack, Perceptor, stay here. We have enough to search for him, I doubt he's wandered far from Ratchet's shadow." Both scientists started to protest, fear still washing out their optics to white. "And no one else is available to watch Bumblebee and Bluestreak." Pressing a kiss to Bluestreak's cheek he handed the sparkling off to Wheeljack before the engineer could say anything. Long arms wrapped around Bluestreak's tiny frame and the lights glinted off the razor sharp fins on his elbows. Bluestreak clicked at Prowl but kept a tight hold on Wheeljack's armor. "I'll return shortly, my love. Be good for Wheeljack." Bluestreak's squeaked and yawned and seemed content to nap in Wheeljack's arms while Prowl left to find his friend.

In the hangar Hound handed Bumblebee to Perceptor. The small scientist to the youngling with the utmost care and held him tight against his spark. "We'll have 'im back 'fore you know it, mechs," Hound said softly. In a sterner voice he told his hyperactive charge, "Don't give Percy any trouble." The cheeky youngling made a sharp salute. Hound tickled under his chin and boarded the ship as the engines hummed to life.

"I can help," Jazz said. "I know I glitched out yesterorn, but I won't do it again. I can help."

Prowl didn't argue and instead asked, "You have upgraded audio sensors, what is their range?" Jazz almost tripped in surprise and stuttered something he didn't even think were words. Not even Megatron knew he had upgraded his audio sensors. The only ones who knew besides himself were Soundwave and the medic that had done the procedure, and since he was currently at the bottom of a river, he didn't even count. He tried again to make his processor and mouth work but the questions and answers got tripped up on his glossa again and he made another bewildered sound. Prowl gave him an apologetic look as they boarded the light craft. "Sorry, Ratchet noted it in your exam. But, can you filter extraneous sounds or do you need to be away from other search teams?"

Jazz finally got his processor back in the game. "I, uh, I can filter, but it's more effective if I'm not in the middle of a group." Because it was equipped for long range spying but if Prowl hadn't figured that out he wasn't painting him a picture.

Prowl nodded, optics flashing as he coordinated Primus knew how many mechs. The exhausted look in his optics was gone, replaced by tight focus. "Inferno has split his team into three pairs that will be assisting each of you. Jazz you'll be acting somewhat like a scout along the northern city border with you staying toward the wild land and the team keeping to the city. First Aid isn't likely to go into the spark of the destruction unless something frightens him there. You will stay along the fringe of the colony and see if you can hear anything whilst Hound will take the southern border. Steeljaw will start tracking directly from the shuttle. Ratchet and medical team are clearing the site now, thankfully, there's no sign of him there." Prowl glanced at Silverbolt who made a quick gesture with his wings and Prowl nodded.

Jazz looked between the two mechs knowing he was missing something but everyone's primary concern was First Aid. It was not a good time to start prying into other matters. And, Jazz was sincerely worried about the little mech. First Aid was the gentlest spark he'd ever met, he couldn't, didn't, want to imagine what would happen if the little mech stumbled into the hidden horrors of the colony.

The dropship made it to the colony in record time. This time, Jazz didn't admire the rolling hills and mountains. The sunlight glittering on bodies of water was almost obscene given what he'd trekked through yesterorn.

Jazz oriented himself and started jogging toward the still smoldering skyline while Hound broke off in a different direction and Steeljaw bolted to the dropship already there. Silverbolt crouched and jumped straight into the air, his dark grey wings snapping out and then down pushing him higher into the cloudless blue sky. He didn't go very high, but he enough he could provide aerial surveillance. Even if First Aid wasn't moving, Silverbolt would be able to spot him. Seekers could see blades of grass even from the top of a two story building. Probably why they were so snobbish about lovers. If he could pick out every single scratch and flaw in a mech's face he'd be picky too.

Jazz kept his jog only a little faster than a walk as he ran down the border of charred destruction and lush waving grasses. His upgraded sensors were wide open, something that would have been impossible if there was anything left alive in the city. Pushing the sensors to their limits he strained to hear even a whisper that fit First Aid's vocal profile. To his right the soft susurration of grass was like someone shouting directly into his audio. To his left was only the occasional sharp creak from still standing metal and the low crackle of embers desperately searching for more to consume.

Ten breems after he started his search he picked up the faintest of whispers ahead of him at the very edges of his sensors. He'd never had his sensors 100% initiated before and could only guess they were another fifteen breems ahead or more based on how the wind was blowing sound. None of the soft snatches matched First Aid's profile but he moved toward the sound anyway. He didn't know First Aid all that well, if he could find someone who knew him better he could narrow his search.

He found the voices twenty breems later. Having pulled back his sensors he came to a stop a short distance from the small group of secondary medics. He recognized one of the senior medics, Hoist. Dark green armor covered in lighter streaks of dirt he shook his head before Jazz could speak. "We've cleared the Site, he's not here." The sparkfelt _Thank Primus_ went unsaid. Jazz glanced around and saw bodies lined up in an orderly row to his left. He fought back a shiver.

"You're burying them?" he said softly. "All of them?" The colony wasn't big, but all indicators said they were looking at No Survivors. Callous as it was to say it, it would be better to cremate them. Already their bodies had lain in the streets so long they were rusting. They'd be literally falling apart by the time enough graves were dug. The medics themselves were an odd thing. There was no reason medics had to dig graves. Big frontliners like the Twins could probably dig two graves each to a medic's one.

"No," Hoist said softly. Jazz glanced again at the bodies to make sure he really was seeing bodies and not something else and noticed the bodies were also streaked and caked with dirt, like the medics in front of him. He blinked and the entire scene he had dismissed when he'd been intent on First Aid came into focus.

An open hole not far from the orderly bodies and beyond it other aberrations on the landscape, mounds of dirt that didn't fully cover twisted limbs of bodies dumped. The grass under his feet was trampled flat and crisp with dried puddles of energon. Words failed as he stared. He looked back at the dirt streaked medics with spark deep pain in their dull optics.

A rush of wind that didn't disturb those uncovered and those still buried warned of a seeker landing. Silverbolt dropped down landing with the elegance every strong seeker seemed to have ingrained in their wings. "Ratchet has not found him yet. Prowl and I both doubt he's remained in his shadow." Nothing in his tone or posture gave away he was standing on the precipice of an atrocity. "By Steeljaw's track it seems he did stay with him for some time, but he hasn't come across where the mechling left." The elegant lines of his face became sharper when he ground his teeth.

Beta stepped out from behind Hoist enough she could hold the older medic's hand in both of hers. "You think he came out here, don't you," she said softly, optics pale. Hoist's fingers curled gently over hers. The others also unconsciously moved closer to the older medic. Secondary medics, apprentices, all young and yet none of them were offline from the shock of seeing the pits. Chill settled over Jazz's spark when he realized this wasn't the first time these young medics had removed bodies from pits.

Silverbolt twitched his wings hard enough a sleek feather came loose and drifted to the ground like a piece of storm cloud. "Yes," he said after a beat of silence. Distress rippled through the group.

Jazz stepped in as gently as he knew how. "Is there anything, anywhere you can think of that he'd go to if he was scared?" he asked. All he needed was a direction and he knew in the eerie silence with his sensors he'd find the little mech.

Hoist made an aggrieved sound and said, "Ratchet." Jazz started to swear and hissed instead. It didn't feel right to add lewd words to the air around the trampled field.

"Could the scene have triggered a memory cascade?" Silverbolt asked. "If so, the dead will have to wait until he's found. If he's wondering around this city lost in memory he could be seriously wounded."

Hoist shook his head once. "All he has are sensory memories, nothing definitive enough to overwhelm him."

Jazz stepped back and looked back the way he'd come. If he was a small mech trailing his guardian and came up on this field…he didn't know what he'd do. He'd never seen mass graves before. Never seen a field so full of energon it looked more like a lake. But right now, he wanted to get away. He wanted to leave the ugliness of it. But First Aid wasn't at the ship, that had been checked top to bottom before their dropship even landed. So he hadn't gone back, but he had to have run somewhere away from the city. Ratchet was old enough, experienced enough, tough enough, he wouldn't have skirted along the edge. "Ratchet walked straight through to you, right?" he asked both the medics and Silverbolt. He received nods from both. "First Aid's not in the city, then," he said with certainty. "The mechling had to be scared just walking through that." The medics winced but he kept speaking. "He wouldn't have gone back through it. If I was a little spark, I would've gotten as far away from this place as I could." But he didn't know First Aid that well so he made the statement a question directed at the medics who spent the most time with him.

Hoist looked out into the wild land beyond the ash border of the city. "Yes," he said slowly. "I can see him doing that. Since he didn't go back to the ship and Ratchet was with us in the middle of this horror, he would have run from this place." But that left them two sides of wilderness to search out with who knew what predators and other natural pitfalls.

Jazz looked at Silverbolt. "Hound will be better searching the trees," he said nodding the forest beginning not far from them. "The leaf litter will cause interference with my audios." With a curt nod that reminded Jazz too much of all the Decepticon officers he knew, the seeker crouched and jumped into the air.

Jazz left the medics to their grim work and jogged into the wilds. The clock hadn't been their friend before, but now it was actively running against them. The sun was just reaching its peak and Jazz guessed they had a few joors of light left and as warm as the orn was, it wasn't a guarantee it wouldn't be strut-freezing cold after it set. Colonies weren't put in outright hostile environments but neither were they selected with the concern that a youngling might get lost in the wild lands. He hadn't seen any fields or cultivated food trees which could mean they had a too short growing season or something in the wild lands made it too dangerous for mechs and femmes to tend fields.

Spark thumping despite his easy pace he cranked his audios up again when he was far enough from the medics their voices wouldn't interfere with his search. Grass brushed his knees and he had to slow his jog to a determined walk the second time he tripped over a rock. Toes throbbing he scanned the area. What had been lush grasses from a distance, up close was a community of grasses, thorny flowering plants, and bushes with sticky sap that stuck to him like glue when he broke the branches.

Looking back he cursed softly. The springy grasses didn't betray his path. Only the broken bushes and the crushed thorny flowers showed where he'd passed. If he wanted to find First Aid's path he'd have to run across it at just the right place. And even then he might not see it, the mechling was small enough he'd have an easier time avoiding the bushes and thorns. On three sides the grasses stretched out in gently rolling hills all the way to a distant tree line. First Aid could be two lengths away from him and he wouldn't know it unless the mechling made a sound.

He started walking again, this time parallel to the colony and the energon soaked field. The mechling was scared, but he was caught between fears. First of what he saw, but also of leaving Ratchet. He didn't think the mechling would run headlong into an unknown wild and leave behind his guardian. Silverbolt coasted in the sky just above the treeline. He was a solitary cloud in endless blue. First Aid might try to get his attention if he wasn't curled up crying somewhere, or in recharge, exhausted by fear.

The hills weren't steep but he could feel his legs beginning to tire as he walked. He was getting farther from the colony and instinct told him he was getting too far from the familiar. First Aid was only a youngling. If Jazz, a frontline warrior, could feel the strain of going up and down the hills, then the little mech would have been tired long before now. He decided he'd get to the bottom of the hill and then turn back. By then hopefully Steeljaw would have a scent and be able to track him. He kept an optic on Silverbolt too but the seeker made no indication their search had been any more fruitful than his.

He reached the bottom and found another half-hidden rock, this one big enough he could lean against it for a moment. Looking up at the sun, no longer at its peak but moving more toward the tree line, urgency washed over him again. Spitting a soft curse he pushed himself up and froze. On the edge of his audio range he heard a quiet rasp that didn't fit with any sound he'd heard in the grasslands. Stilling every non-essential system he had he listened, straining to hear it again. And there, _rasssssp, snick_. Whirling around he sprinted up the hill, spark pounding again.

He didn't see anything at first when he got to the top of the hill, but with his audios still at full power he followed the quiet, _quiet_ sounds of First Aid's systems. The grass at the top no longer brushed his knees, it was trampled and stamped down as if many feet had been through the area. It made it easier to avoid the rocks and bushes as he ran.

He found First Aid and sent the coordinates to Ratchet and Prowl first and then the rest of the search team. He added the other medics after a second thought. The youngling was crouched over the broken stems of flowers in the flattened grass. He looked up when Jazz called his name. "Little mech, what are you doin' out here?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice calm. He'd survived more crises than most mechs encountered in a lifetime but the relief he felt finding the little mech unharmed was unmatched. "You've got everyone scared outta their sparks, Ratchet's glitched with worry and Wheeljack thinks it's his fault."

First Aid wilted and Jazz cut off his tirade. First Aid looked down at the flowers with fluid shimmering in his optics. Jazz crouched down to get optic level with him already regretting the few words he'd said. "You hurt?" he asked not at all certain of how to make amends. He hated to admit how much he'd been worried. First Aid shook his head and didn't look up. Jazz looked around the trampled area and the small flowers in front of First Aid. The delicate stems were held up and held together with thin strips of white medical tape. He thought about asking the mechling what he was doing but the mechling didn't seem to be in a talking mood.

A shadow swept over them a second before Silverbolt landed. "First Aid," he said, relief in his words and the way his wings dipped from their high arches for a brief second. Crouching down he ran a gentle hand down First Aid's back. "Come here, mechling, you don't know what predators are on this planet," he said softly scooping the small youngling into his arms. First Aid stayed quiet but wiggled around until he could press his audio against Silverbolt's spark chamber.

Silverbolt held the youngling with naked relief on his face as he stroked down the side of his head lulling the small mech into a light recharge. Jazz stood from his crouch, convinced that the youngling was in fact okay. Nothing had eaten him, the thorny flowers that had brushed Jazz's armor hadn't even nicked the little mech. Looking around the grasslands he saw several other distinctive trampled places. "Landing sites," he said softly, his optics picking out the familiar pattern of the dropships shape and where heavy mechs and femmes had disembarked crushing the grass to pulp and mud. Turning around, he could see he hadn't gone as far from the city as he thought he had. The broken skyline was easy to see. Also easy to see, was the small clearing with its mounds of freshly turned dirt and bodies. He saw Hoist's dark frame and Beta's lighter colors and the others as they gently removed bodies and scanned for IDs.

"How could you?" he asked softly, razors in his voice. He didn't realize he was speaking until the words were out. "So you worked during the orn to save little mechs like Fireflight but at night you'd fly out to little places like this and kill everyone."

"Seekers are not permitted to land," Silverbolt said just as softly, both of them aware of the small mech drowsing in his arms. "I was only on the frontlines for a short time, but during strafing runs seekers are not permitted to land, not permitted below a certain altitude. Anyone who breaks that rule is brought down by ground forces." Jazz turned to face him. Silverbolt didn't look at him, his optics on the medics as they worked. "I was moved to the training camps at the Youth Sectors after only a decavorn. My only job was training. Seekers were never part of the running of the camps." The bleakness in his voice seemed to leech color from the sky and ground. "I cannot claim innocent ignorance in the strafing runs, only the willful ignorance we all have when it comes to such things. But the camps…they haven't been resurrected because the seekers found out." A touch of cold, a knife's edge to his voice. "Megatron…he came so close to losing everything. That cursed glitch Starscream could have ended this war if not for his need for power. He could have pulled back, the seekers would have followed him, but he stayed with Megatron even after." He trailed off, optics moving to a distant point. "But not all stayed. I wasn't the only one to walk away from the Decepticons after that. Megatron will never admit it, but he's scrambling. He managed to brainwash a few generation into following him to death, but the older seekers…" He blinked and looked at Jazz, a smile on his mouth that didn't touch his optics. "There is still a shred of honor in some of those old seekers." He looked down at First Aid and stroked his arm again, wings dipping a fraction as he watched the youngling recharge in his arms.

If Jazz still hadn't had his upgraded audio sensors partially online he would've missed Ratchet's approach. As it was, the tall mech blew past him so fast Jazz didn't have a chance to look over his shoulder before First Aid was swept up in the Ahnkmorian's arms. He had thought Ratchet would give the youngling the third degree, had assumed First Aid would be crying on the way back to the ship but Ratchet didn't say anything. First Aid squeaked until he realized the whirlwind that had lifted him from Silverbolt's arms was his guardian. The mechling curled against him looking as small as Bumblebee and Ratchet pressed his forehead against First Aid's head and kept his optics closed until Prowl arrived a breem later.

"First Aid, what are you doing out here?" he asked, no sign of anger in his voice. Jazz looked from the youngling to Prowl and to Ratchet trying to figure out who was going to give the verbal thrashing. Silverbolt nodded once at Prowl and took off with an ease that wasn't meant to show off, but did it anyway.

First Aid uncurled a little and looked at Prowl with one big blue optic still a little teary. "I want to help…I got scared," he said softly. Prowl tilted his head to the side and glanced down while Ratchet's arms tightened around the small mech. Jazz focused on the ground where First Aid had been digging around when he arrived. An almost gone roll of medical tape lay on the ground next to the flowers. Their stalks were wrapped in the bright white, the one First Aid had been working on when Jazz arrived was only half done. The bottom of the stalk was taped straight but the top half was still broken and the flower hung limp and wilting in the hot sun.

"You can help," Ratchet murmured, his dark voice a little husky with the soft tone. "You can help Perceptor label his samples." He pressed a kiss to First Aid's head and the little mech nodded but the tears remained. He held the youngling tight as he started walking back down the hill. Prowl watched them go and then looked at the patch of flowers First Aid had been working on. He crouched down to pick up the tape and to Jazz's surprise lifted the head of the flower First Aid had started taping and put another bright band around the stalk to keep the flower upright.

Jazz blinked at him when he stood. "We have to start healing somewhere," he said softly. He looked at the blackened bones of the city below still huffing grey smoke into the air. The taped flowers bobbed in the wind but didn't break further. Pulling out his canteen Jazz carefully poured a little water on them.

 **oOo**

A/N: Well. I don't have anything snappy to add, so, Thank You for reading and reviewing, following and favoriting!


	10. Chapter 10

_::Preparing to send signal::_

 _::Configuring::_

 _::Authenticating::_

 _::Transmission Signal Encryption Code: 191-521N-DW12-05::_

 _::Transmission Sender ID: Meister::_

 _::Transmission Receiver ID: Rumble::_

 _::Files being transferred::_

File Contents: Updated Schematics; incomplete

File Contents: Security Systems; incomplete

File Contents: Updated Personnel Files

File Contents: Projected Flight Path

 _::Signal Disruption::_

 _Cause: Manual Disconnect_

 _::File Download 50% Complete::_

 _::Query:: Restart::_

 _::Restart Cancelled::_

 _::Disconnecting::_

 _::Signal Terminated::_


	11. Chapter 11

Condensation prickled all over Jazz's exoform, spark pounding, his shaky fingers broke down the small rig. With the rig stored he issued a sharp order to the Decepticon pilot. The claustrophobic stealth ship's engines hummed to life and it drifted away from the space colony. Outside the _Ark_ was a giant recharging predator. Camouflaged mottled black and grey and white that obscured its shape when it was close to a planet Jazz felt like it was looking right at him.

"They found the signal," Jazz said. He was glad his voice didn't shake. It'd been so close. The hack nothing but a quiet crackle that he had almost, _almost,_ ignored thinking it was regular interference. It was stupid luck or maybe instinct that he'd checked the connection again and seen the unknown code inserted. Blaster wasn't supposed to be on duty, he'd checked three times before creeping down to the hangar. He'd had to wait in a cramped corner for the Prime to board a dropship with Ironhide and Red Alert. They were on their way to the colony and Jazz had almost gotten caught in the ship's afterburners when he lunged out the open door with only a hope and prayer the Decepticon stealth ship was close enough to pick him up before his energon froze. And now, after all of that, he hadn't been able to complete his download because some enterprising glitch on communications picked up the signal. He glared at the colony. EL-579 was neutral but sympathetic to Decepticons. There should have been enough hostile signals coming and going no one should pick up on his.

Condensation washed over his frame again as his core temperature kicked up. Unless they'd been searching for that signal. He didn't think they'd caught him at the last planet, but if they had…then they knew for sure now someone onboard was feeding the Decepticons information. Refusing to let panic overwhelm him he paced the ship. He couldn't get back onboard the _Ark_ until the Prime returned from the colony. If they did a headcount while he was gone…

There were only two XOps on the ship with him, the pilot kept his focus on the ship, the other watched Jazz as one predator did another. Just another reason not to panic. Showing weakness to either one would be energon in the water. "How often are you in contact with Soundwave?" he asked instead, mind racing ahead. "If they've locked on to my signal the rig is useless. I need to get him the rest of this face to face."

"We'll arrange it," was the mech's silky answer. He blinked once, not expecting the smooth voice from the scarred mech in front of him but he didn't dwell on it. He did wonder if the mech was one of the ones who'd been at Strata D-22. Even a kel after the pits had been exhumed he still woke up choking on silence and phantom ash. He didn't ask. As long as they got him into a meeting with Soundwave.

If he survived that long.

An eternity later the pilot notified him they'd picked up the dropship's signal. Jazz grit his teeth waiting by the hatch. Fear had kept him from really warming up from the last jump. It was tempting to tell the ship to wait for him, to see if Prowl would be waiting in the hangar for him. But that was weakness. They wouldn't wait for him. Swallowing he flexed his toes when the decompression warning bleated. He didn't fight the vacuum and used the sudden explosive force to launch himself at the _Ark_ 's hangar. The pale blue light of the dropship's engines burned in front of him. With a quick controlled flick of his feet he gained on the ship as cold dug deep into his lines. He clamped his teeth together to keep them from chattering. Any small thing that could change his course or slow him down would kill him. Hangar doors didn't stay open long, and that time was even shorter with a colony not friendly to Autobots a stone's throw away.

Jazz kicked his feet again and slithered through the gap a few seconds before it closed. The riskiest part was getting back to his cramped corner before he was seen. Then he'd have to creep out almost on the Prime's heels because he was certain Red Alert would be heading to the security room and reviewing footage. He'd used every bit of his skill to avoid the cameras in the hangar, but it was a very real possibility he'd missed one. He swallowed hard and wedged himself into his corner. The dropship powered down as atmosphere rushed into the hangar. Jazz still didn't allow his teeth to chatter. If he did it now, he might not be able to stop it when the passengers disembarked.

The ship fully cycled down and the door opened. Optimus and Ironhide, deep in conversation strode out, purpose to their steps and headed for the door. Jazz stopped breathing until he ascertained they were arguing about the content of the meeting. Trade disagreements, Primus, he'd never been so grateful to hear about such a boring topic. The pilot exited a breem later, a pretty femme named Morning Glory who was sunshine yellow and delicate blue. She reminded him of a grown up femme version of Bluestreak. She was nothing but bubbly excited words and always smiling and laughing. She looked back as Red Alert's dark frame exited behind her. She laughed as if they'd been talking and then chirped a goodbye before skipping into the ship. Red Alert's pace was more measured, his head moving left and right as he scanned the hangar.

Jazz forced his stiff body to move, to follow. Red Alert would be at the security room in a few breems and he _had_ to know about the signal disruption. Jazz had to get back to his quarters and get into a hot bath to warm up and loosen his limbs in case the mech came knocking later.

 **oOo**

A septorn later, Jazz still felt his neck prickle when he walked past cameras. He was doing everything he could to be just another Autobot to the point even he thought it looked fake. But he wasn't in interrogation. Blaster hadn't mentioned the signal, Red Alert was harder to read but he didn't think the mech hated him anymore than he had before.

They were on course for another planet, this one without a colony and, to Jazz's delight, looked to be mostly water. It was the one bright point in a septorn riddled with rechargeless orns and stress. Silverbolt walked past him listening serenely to Fireflight try to explain to him that he absolutely _had_ to stay up past his recharge time because the Twins were watching a holovid and he had promised he would be there. The pair continued down the hall with Fireflight seeming to think he'd convinced his guardian that he could stay up until well past fourth shift. Jazz huffed softly in amusement. He'd thought the seekers would be gone and had been more than a little irritated when they remained but he'd come to terms with it.

On her way to shift, Beta gave him a small smile still colored with sadness. All of the medical staff had the same sadness in their optics and exhaustion that went deeper than a few missed joors of recharge. Jazz nodded at her and pretended not to see the lingering pain. Prowl had, had the same exhausted look in his optics all septorn. Jazz was actively trying not to cross paths with him. Every time he saw the Praxians his mind flashed to the hate-filled red optics he'd seen staring at him dozens of times over in the med bay. Bluestreak didn't seem to carry the nightmares into the daylight joors. He was still happy and bouncy, but from Prowl's optics he knew the mechling wasn't recharging.

Galloping past him, Steeljaw launched himself into the air and tried to snap at Eject's wings as the hawk symbiont squawked and screeched at him. Blaster wasn't any different around him, but he couldn't trust that affable harmless exterior. For the first time in his service, paranoia was becoming a very real concern for him. He didn't know if Blaster was staying close because he genuinely thought they were friends or if he was keeping a closer optic on his movements. Whatever game the communications officer was playing, Jazz had to play it too, because losing was not an option.

"Steeljaw," he called as the two symbionts harassed each other. The lion looked at him with bright optics and gave him a toothy smile in greeting. It was hard to tell if it was a real smile or a threat hidden behind his usual comical expressions. "We headin' to that planet with all the water?" he asked, the hopeful note in his voice was real. He needed to get wet. To dive in and swim for a bit. The water would help. Water always helped steady him. Steeljaw nodded and held up a paw. It was hard, but he could manipulate his paws enough to show simple numbers. Jazz had some practice with it, but more often than not it was a game of Twenty Questions until someone took pity on him and interpreted for him. "We'll be there in one orn?" he asked. Steeljaw shook his head. Eject landed on top of a camera and squawked. "One septorn?" Jazz asked. Distance in space was hard to judge especially when there were so few celestial bodies in this particular section. Steeljaw shook his head again.

"No mech, we're gonna be there for one orn," Arcee laughed as she walked by. She scratched behind Steeljaw's ears and the lion snorted and nodded.

"I would've gotten there eventually," he said to Steeljaw. The lion flashed his teeth again in his maybe-a-threat smile and then spun and took off down the hall. Eject screeched and launched flapping hard in the narrow hall with low ceiling. Looking out the window again Jazz forced himself to breathe.

 **oOo**

Blessed cool water surrounded him. For the first time in kels he was weightless. The stress couldn't hold onto his armor as he streaked through the water. Tiny acrobatic fish darted alongside him as larger lumbering herbivores kept close to the bottom ripping up the thick carpet of swaying plants. He spun a circle, not thinking, just swimming. He needed to stop thinking. Thinking wasn't getting him anything but rechargeless nights. He was currently stuck. He couldn't use his rig to signal Soundwave. He had to trust Decepticon XOps to get the message through. That thought alone could send him into a fit of hysteria. _Trust_ Decepticon XOps. Megatron hardly trusted his own XOps. But that didn't change how stuck he was. All he could do was keep his reports and if—when—he got into contact with Soundwave he'd give him everything he had.

Surfacing he took a deep breath, releasing the hot air that had built up while he'd been submerged. Peace settled over him again. It was a little prickly, but there was only so much he could do. His usual channels for communication were too risky. Red Alert still hated him, still watched him. Blaster wasn't _always_ around, but he was around enough. He would just have to wait. Either the XOps would come through for him or they wouldn't. Glancing back at shore at least a joor of fast swimming away, he started a slow backstroke looking up at the turquoise sky.

Allowing the waves to wash him up on the beach he walked languidly toward the tree line. His frame was pleasantly tired and thoroughly soaked. The breeze was a bit colder than he liked, but the sun was still hot above and once he was back at the LZ he'd be comfortable.

For a planet mostly water, somehow, the Autobots had found a patch of dry land. He'd thought they'd be down at the beach with the sparklings but Blaster had told him Bluestreak didn't know how to swim so he wouldn't be by the water. He'd been hoping Hound was adventurous enough to bring Bumblebee down to the beach but the old scout had laughed almost until he overheated. Apparently the last time they'd taken Bumblebee to the beach he'd managed to slip away from Hound _and_ Springer for half a joor. So no beach for the little yellow youngling either and First Aid wouldn't be going because Bumblebee would throw a fit if he found out.

Jazz was a little disappointed but with the scare First Aid had given him, he understood why the guardians were leery of letting their young charges go near water. So he hiked through the trees listening for the little mechs. Bluestreak in particular liked to chirp and trill like a little bird when he and Bumblebee started a chase game.

He heard Bluestreak's distinctive little voice after half a joor of hiking and angled toward it. He was tired of being under the trees and ready to sprawl out in the sun for whatever time they had left planetside.

Trailbreaker, Hound, and Springer were so well camouflaged Jazz didn't realize they were in front of him until Springer turned his head. With that small movement his optics suddenly registered their shapes and he came to a startled stop. Their colors were distinctive in the halls, he had thought they were either too dark or too dark to really blend in with trees. But when Springer stilled again he was almost invisible. Big as he was, even Trailbreaker's black armor made him look like another shadowed tree trunk. Much more obvious with his rust red armor was Cliffjumper and a mech named Sea Spray who had cobalt blue and deep gold armor. The four mechs were standing in the shade in a semi-circle, attention on the center. Hound lifted a hand in greeting and it was like watching a piece of the trees detach.

Stepping out of the bushes he was joined the circle listening to Bluestreak. The mechling twittered excitedly and bounced around in front of the adult mechs who watched him with amused and bemused smiles. He didn't see either First Aid or Bumblebee but when he checked his time he realized they were probably still napping. A surprisingly soft step behind him alerted him a second before Blaster shouldered his way in and dropped into a crouch with a wide smile. "What'cha on about lil' spark?"

Bluestreak squealed and ran over to him, little wings fluttering like banners. "I play," he squeaked, demonstrating by running back and forth in front of Blaster a couple times. "And I—" _click-click-chirp_. He looked at Blaster with shining blue optics. In the light, closer to the center his optics had a dash of green that shimmered like emeralds.

Blaster laughed. "You hid in a bush and a big bug tried to scare you?" Seaspray's face twitched but when the sparkling looked at him he was composed. Cliffjumper didn't do as well but Bluestreak didn't take offense at the smile turning up a corner of his mouth. "That wasn't very nice," Trailbreaker said with the utmost sincerity in his soft voice. Hound and Springer huffed softly with amusement, their old faces looking a little younger as the sparkling nodded fiercely.

Bluestreak hiccupped and his vocalizer clicked once. He jumped back with his tiny wings flaring and chirped in adorable warning. "I say no! No bug, no scare!" He chirped again and flapped his wings forward. When he grew into his adult strength, the hard snap would be accompanied by a thunderclap of sound which would be enough to scare off all but the most determined assailants. For now the semi-circle of adults hid their smiles and laughs behind their hands. Bluestreak made a sharp _tsss_ and arched his wings high over his back stalking forward. "No bug! Not nice bug!" He ran back and forth a couple times still hissing and then clicked and chirped at Blaster.

The red and yellow mech sat back in the grass and laughed. "That bug din't know what it was gettin' into with you, lil' mech." Steeljaw prowled around his side, stalking through the grass to a tiny flower and pounced on it with a growl. Bluestreak nodded once with his head held high like Prowl. Jazz could see him growing into a mech with the same regal air as his guardian.

His nobility fled a moment later when Prowl exited the dropship and he was once again a bouncing, clumsy little spark. Red Alert walked a step behind Prowl, his slightly hunched rolling gait was like the predacons some high class liked to keep chained up outside their homes. His head swiveled back and forth, light catching on his sharp horns. Prowl's smile when he saw his sparkling running for him made Jazz's spark kick a little. "Hello my love," Prowl said, his steps flowing like water into a kneel. Red Alert remained standing, his shadow falling over Prowl as he continued watching everyone and everything. Bluestreak squealed and launched himself at the older Praxian.

"He had an adventure," Trailbreaker said with a grin.

"Bluestreak and the Big Bad Bug," Blaster laughed. "Ya' think we can get Sunny to illustrate it?" Seaspray and Cliffjumper both snorted but Trailbreaker looked thoughtful. Hound and Springer rolled their optics. Jazz left the shade for the sun with every intent to sprawl out by the ship and nap for a joor or three.

From the ship First Aid ran out into the sunlight with a happy yip, followed closely by a twittering Bumblebee. The little yellow mech jumped into the first dirt patch he saw and rolled around like a cybercat. "Bee," Trailbreaker said wearily. "You're gonna get a bath soon as you get back." The youngling either didn't hear or ignored him as he continued to roll in the dirt and grass. Hound tilted his head back with a pained sound while Springer's laugh filled the air.

To Jazz's everlasting surprise, Ratchet came out a few seconds later, not blinking against the bright light. His optics found First Aid as he sprawled out in the dirt next to Bumblebee giggling maniacally. His chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh but he didn't tell the youngling to get up. Bluestreak fluttered the ends of his wings watching the other two roll in the dirt and gave Prowl a confused look. "Why?" he squeaked.

"Because they don't have wings that itch when dirt gets on them," Prowl answered tickling the ends of Bluestreak's wings. Bluestreak squirmed and bounced out of his arms over to Red Alert. "What adventure did you have, my love?" Prowl asked watching Bluestreak preparing to pounce on Red Alert's foot.

The sparkling clicked and ran back to Prowl to retell his story with great drama. Prowl listened to the whole story with a small smile on his face. Bluestreak finished and hid from the hot sun under Prowl's wing. "I tell it, bad!" he nodded to himself and his wings ruffled like he was still peeved the bug had tried to frighten him. "No more do," he added. "Like 'Atch't."

"I certainly hope you didn't use that many expletives," Red Alert deadpanned. Jazz didn't think he'd been listening with as focused as he was on the environment. The mech was a whole other league and Jazz knew he was outclassed. Bluestreak's little face scrunched in confusion and he looked up at Prowl for a definition of the strange word. "Bad words," Red Alert clarified without ceasing his scanning.

Bluestreak looked up at Prowl's wing but in the direction of Red Alert's voice. "No," he said with a small frown. "Das rude."

Blaster fell over laughing and Seaspray doubled over with a guffaw that scared birds out of the trees. Red Alert made a sound that took Jazz a moment to realize was a laugh and Prowl was doing his best to contain his mirth but it glittered in his optics.

Ratchet glared at all of them. "Next firewall update, none of you will know up from down," he threatened. Bluestreak sprang out from the shelter of Prowl's wings at Bumblebee as he ran past. The youngling tumbled in surprise, Bluestreak's aim was too far to the left, and the two of them started squeaking and chirping at each other running in circles.

Prowl stood and stretched his wings, the light playing on his feathers like shimmering liquid silver. He watched the two little mechs take off through the field and Jazz was certain—now that he was really watching him—that Red Alert wasn't paying as much attention to Prowl as he thought he was. He had assumed because he'd come out with the SIC that Prowl's safety was his primary concern. Watching the quick flash of his optics over the field now, he realized the grey and red mech was watching the younglings and Bluestreak. He was staying close to Prowl out of habit.

Dropping down in the long grass, after making sure there weren't any hidden stones, Jazz sighed and returned to his Not Thinking mindset. The sun was warm and the little sparks were chirping at each other with First Aid trying to tell them how they were supposed to be playing the game. A smile kicked up the corner of his mouth. The little mech was almost as bossy as his guardian.

A little over a joor later his sensors woke him when a mech passed—what he considered—too close. Opening an optic he yawned and sat up to watch Fireflight as he skipped through the grass. His wings trailing through the grass and, from the way he was laughing, it must've tickled. A second dropship was cooling down a fair distance away from the first. Fireflight found a good open space and stretched his wings out. The splash of vibrant red and orange against the trees and sky was an optical shock. He folded his wings back a moment later and then hopped a couple times. Jazz watched the juvenile with his head canted to the side. He'd never spent any significant time around seekers, much less young seekers.

Fireflight crouched and jumped snapping his wings out but couldn't keep aloft and dropped back to the ground. Undeterred, he crouched lower and jumped again, flapping his wings hard and stayed up for a few seconds before slowly coming back down. Panting hard he frowned and shook out his feathers. "Fireflight," Silverbolt called coming out of the second. "Where is the wind?" The juvenile looked at his guardian and his wings spread a fraction, testing the breeze. Energon colored his face and he gave his guardian a sheepish smile before turning into the gentle breeze Jazz could feel caressing his armor. He crouched and jumped straight up with everything his little body had. Wings snapping open and then down in hard strokes that made Jazz's shoulders ache just watching. But the juvenile rose and angled into the wind, swooping low and his wings catching enough of the breeze to send him shooting into the air. A delighted squeal, the purest sound of joy Jazz had ever heard filled the sky as the juvenile rolled and glided on the wind. Silverbolt stopped and watched his mechling with an expression of pride mingled with pain.

Prowl walked to stand next to him and they watched Fireflight frolic in the air. "When did he get so big?" Silverbolt asked. Prowl shook his head, a smile on his face as well. Fireflight spun a wobbly corkscrew and dove close to the ground before slowly climbing on the breeze.

Bluestreak scampered over to Prowl squeaking and chirping in astonishment. His tiny wings opened wide and he bounced around trying to jump into the sky like Fireflight. Silverbolt and Prowl chuckled quietly. Crouching down, Silverbolt called Bluestreak to him. "Come little spark, I'll take you up high." Bluestreak's optics lit up and he pounced on the seeker, jumping on his bent knee and scrambling into his arms. Silverbolt laughed again and held the sparkling secure in his arms. Storm cloud grey wings opened wide and then resettled close to his back. He was old enough he didn't have to really jump into the air like Fireflight. A small hop and his powerful wings beat down sending dust and loose grass flying up. They were in the sky in seconds.

Jazz listened to Bluestreak's delighted buzzes and chirps as the seeker coasted lazily on the wind. "I didn't know they could do slow takeoffs like that," he said to Prowl. He'd only ever seen Starscream's armada in action. Their takeoffs were little more than flashes of light as they leapt into the sky and snapped out their wings. They could be off the ground and out of range of weapons in less than five seconds. He'd thought that had been the supreme display of seeker power, but the ease that Silverbolt had slowly left the ground made him rethink that.

"Only strong flyers," Prowl said. "It takes more alloy and cable control to do a slow takeoff. It's considered showing off, but Bluestreak is too small for a more traditional takeoff." He smiled when his sparkling squealed and chirped at him as Silverbolt dipped and rose on the air currents. "Starscream doesn't encourage others to practice the technique. It gives him an edge, a way to always be the best flyer. I've heard Thundercracker can also do a slow takeoff, given his wingspan it must be an impressive display."

"And a good way to make a target," Jazz said. He'd only seen Thundercracker from a distance. The mech had wings the size of sails. Definitely not an acrobatic flyer, but a heavy hitter in the skies. "You ever get into the sky?" he asked, a sudden bout of curiosity. As a Praxian, Prowl didn't have the wingspan to do a standing takeoff, he'd have to be somewhere high first. Praxians didn't so much fly as glide. He'd heard they were excellent for distance, able to hop from one air current to the next like some of the migratory fish jumped from current to current.

"Sometimes," he said. "The wind here isn't strong enough to keep me aloft long. The last planet I took Bluestreak out along the coastline for a joor." Another smile touched his lips, this one with the tinge of memory. "He'll be exhausted tonight. He loves flying with Silverbolt." No anger in that soft statement, only affectionate amusement.

"Not afraid he'll want to move in with Silverbolt?" Jazz asked, not sure if he was joking or looking for a fracture in the bond between seeker and Praxian.

Prowl huffed softly, the closest he'd probably ever get to a snort. "No. I rather he have these happy memories." Darkness clouded his optics. "With the damage to his wings, he might not ever be able to fly on his own. If he's going to touch the sky he will always have to be carried by someone else." Jazz looked up at Fireflight trying to do a little flip without crashing to the ground while Silverbolt glided close by. Close enough to catch the juvenile should his wings lose the wind. And held safe against his chest Bluestreak chattered happily.

They stood together watching the trio. Jazz with anger nipping at his spark and that odd sick feeling he didn't know how to get rid of returning. Deciding he didn't want to talk about Bluestreak or flying anymore he asked, "Is our next stop going to have a market or anything?" He sighed with a trace of irritation. "I lost a bet with Smokescreen and owe him some kind of impossible to find sweet snack."

Prowl didn't laugh outright, but there was a gleam of amusement in his optics. "There will be, but we picked up a hostile signal at the last colony, so we've changed our course. Perhaps you can make another bet in the interim and get out of this obligation." Jazz laughed while his spark froze. Changing course and he knew now he couldn't use his rig. They were looking for him. Even if he chanced sending a signal to update the course Prowl hadn't said where they were going. If Jazz asked for details and then forwarded the information to Soundwave and the Decepticons were waiting…he had no idea how many knew about the change in plans. If he was the only one Prowl told, the Praxian could do the math. Now it was a matter of figuring out how to tell Soundwave what little information he'd managed to get through was useless.

Megatron was going to be so fraggin' angry.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** I don't want to say I'm _delighted_ my fake out worked, but I did smile devilishly when I saw your reviews. But your reviews always put a smile on my face, so thank you for R/R/F/F!

Also, quick update on this because I had these scenes written months ago. Next chapter I don't have anything done yet, so it will be a couple weeks before it's up.


	12. Chapter 12

Jazz's spark raced as he strode to the hangar. The halls were their usual quiet of activity on the outside. If any mech were to drop by they wouldn't think anything was amiss. It was creepy how normal everything was. On the outside at least. His comm. link was alive with orders and responses.

He'd racked his processor for almost a kel trying to think of a way to get a message to Soundwave when, like a demented favor from Primus, Decepticon black ops came through for him. Colony Beta 626 currently had a Decepticon battalion hammering at it. The colony was big enough their own forces could keep the Decepticons at bay for a time, but they needed reinforcements if they wanted to push them out.

Not coincidentally, Beta 626 was also the colony they were originally scheduled to visit.

The awareness they were walking straight into a trap didn't seem to faze any of the mechs. Even Beachcomber had merely shrugged when Jazz asked if he was worried. The level of calm on the ship was eerie. Even now as combat teams loaded dropships there was no yelling, no pounding feet. The _Nemesis_ was always an audioache of noise the eve of battle; frontliners snarling and growling, boasting and betting. Here, the rec room that morning had been its usual noise. No one mentioning anything about the upcoming fight as the little mechlings chattered and ate their breakfast. Not even perceptive First Aid had seemed to notice anything was different.

Reaching the hangar he saw the Prime boarding a ship with Ironhide and the Twins before it sealed up and began powering up for departure. Prowl and Ratchet waited by another as heavy frontliners loaded up checking armor and grenades. If not for the click of weapons it could've been just another planet excursion.

Jazz wasn't assigned to Prowl's ship, the first time that had happened. It wasn't a big detail, but it was just enough to make his tanks churn uncomfortably. Walking up the ramp he found a place next to Springer as the last of their team came aboard. Two big lumbering frontliners took what little room was left. Locking additional grenades into place, the smaller of the two behemoths every Decepticon knew as well as the Twins: Strafe. Jazz kept his face blank as he watched the Goliath Autobot pack away more rounds and explosives in his subspace. Ironhide was a walking menace, but Strafe was chaos incarnate. Whatever plans Megatron might have laid were about to be trashed. Thoroughly.

The other mountain of a mech matched Strafe's coloring of deep reds and smoky grey. He didn't have as many explosives, but the rounds and rounds of ammo he was packing probably added a quarter ton to his total weight. The big bruiser was called Scattershot and Jazz was convinced the Decepticons _did_ know about him, they just confused him for Strafe. Standing together the differences were obvious, but if seen individually while under fire from missiles and plasma shots he could understand why they were mixed up. He tucked that tidbit away as something interesting Soundwave might like to know about.

The last one to board was their combat commander, Arcee. Squeezing between the titan Autobots her optics flashed over the assembled mechs and femmes. Sending the signal to the pilots her optics became a little distant as she received encrypted instructions. Jazz hadn't been able to break into the command frequency but he wasn't quite giving it his all. Blaster was managing the comm. links and had to be looking for any tip off for the traitor among them. Red Alert was also on high alert and Jazz was beyond wary—scared even—of testing himself against their combined skills.

He caught a final glimpse of Prowl's glittering wing as he boarded his own ship just before their door closed. Unbidden and unwanted worry washed through his processor like acid. Decepticons had the advantage in this arena with a contingent already on the ground and Megatron only knew what else waiting in the wings. Megatron hadn't been sighted on the field so the Prime was actually safe. No Decepticon was going to risk their life trying to kill the Prime when Megatron reserved that honor for himself. Instead, Prowl and Ratchet would be taking the brunt of the assault and snipers. Personally, he thought Prowl should take a page from Starscream's book and let the initial wave trigger whatever other traps were down below, but he was going out with the first wave, same as the Prime.

Annoyed with himself he shook his head and rolled his shoulders to shake the thoughts off. "Final weapons check," Arcee barked over the sound of the engines. Obediently the frontliners went through the motions of arming their ranged weapons. "Got a hot landing." She glanced up at the towering Scattershot and Strafe. "Your dropzone is two breems behind enemy lines." The mechs flashed her wicked grins, a glitchy glint in their optics. "Soon as we get the signal we're moving," she said to the rest of ship. There was no room for argument in her voice, clipped and sharp. Jazz would not have guessed she was a combat leader from their talks in the rec room, but there was no doubt about it now. Optics cold like chips of sapphire swept over the assembled mechs and femmes. "Give them Pit, mechs." Was the last thing she said as the ship left the hangar and shot toward the colony.

There was no room for worry or annoyance or any of the other stray thoughts that had been plaguing him. The dropship skimmed above the ground, reducing speed and altitude as much as it could without becoming a sitting duck bobbing and weaving to avoid weapon fire. The hatch slid open as explosives blasted against the hull jostling Jazz as he moved forward. The bigger frontliners didn't do much more than sway. With a roar more like a predacon than a Cybertronian, Scattershot and Strafe barreled out the door already blasting away at anything that moved.

As soon as they were deployed the ship picked up speed until it was on the defender's side and again dropped down close to the ground as small arms fire continued to pepper the shields. "Ready!" Arcee yelled over the noise. "Move!" She turned and leapt out unsheathing a long dagger and unholstering a blaster at the same time. The rest of the ship followed and Jazz was swept forward by their momentum.

He was not a mech meant for flying and even the few seconds he was airborne before hitting the ground and rolling were too long in the air for him. As soon as he was up though there was no more time for thoughts. Plasma blasts seared the ground around him; grenades cratered the ground throwing dust and rock into the air. Beyond trees and grass burned from plasfire as jets shrieked overhead. Autobot aerials met a squad of Decepticons head to head mid-air. Engergon sprinkled down like a perverse rain shower as mainlines were slashed high above.

Jazz kept the Autobots in his sights as he fired at the entrenched Decepticons. Screams vibrated against his audios, the buzz of blasters charging charged the air making his plates prickle. A femme with an Autobot insignia lay in a pool of energon missing most of her face. The _boom_ of artillery being deployed sent Decepticons scattering for cover as the shells landed and detonated sending up walls of fire and molten rock. Before the heatwave even reached them, Autobots and colony defenders were rushing forward to take advantage of the chaos.

Jazz coughed on the smoke and dust creating a haze of grey over the scene and moved with his team. His smaller size left him several paces behind the frontliners as they sprinted for the downed Decepticons. Another round of artillery shook their air before the high whistle of shells covered the other sounds of battle. More Decepticons threw themselves into cover as the second wave detonated not far behind the first.

 _Jazz, Springer, Hot Spot, Devcon; Decepticons attempting to flank. Divert left._ Arcee's voice was controlled but not the smooth tone he knew Prowl's must've been when he gave her those orders. His body changed direction following Springer's bounding steps while his mind snagged on the wish that he could hear Prowl's voice right now, too. A plasma bolt seared his shoulder and he locked his thoughts down and ran faster.

Trees reduced to smoking charcoal husks provided some cover and also made it difficult to see mechs like Hot Spot and Devcon who had smoky grey and dark blue armor. Deeper in the former trees melted frames appeared covered in ash, burned beyond recognition. The heavy stench of burned internals and engeron filled the air as thick as the smoke. _Loose formation_ , Springer ordered, his voice was rough with age but didn't waver. Closing as many vents and he could to block the ash and heavy smoke Jazz was a silent shadow behind the other three. He needed to find a way to slip away. Black ops may have told Soundwave he needed a face to face conference, but with the Autobots on the ground now the Decepticons weren't going to last much longer. Another salvo of artillery echoed behind him.

A blip on his sensors and he spun to the right. Jewel bright, slitted red optics watched him with menace. He almost sight in relief. Glancing only to make sure none had seen him pause he took off after Ravage as the predacon symbiont loped silently through the charred graveyard.

The Decepticon camp wasn't far, the sound of artillery still shook the air as Jazz sprinted after Ravage. He ran straight through the camp with his optics on Ravage only. As long as they knew he was following the tiger, none of the Decepticons would interfere. He kept all sensors on high alert though. Right now, this battalion was getting their afts handed to them, they might not physically interfere, but that wouldn't stop them from taking a potshot.

Ravage stopped in front of a heavily cloaked ship and sat with his tail wrapped around his legs, the tip flicking impatiently. Jerking his head in the direction of the hatch he trained his glare on any that tried to wander too close. Opening his vents Jazz stepped in without hesitation. The battle was inching closer and he was going to need every spare second to get back with his team on the very good chance Ravage didn't help him.

"Soundw—" Jerking back in surprise he immediately dropped to his knees and kept his optics on the floor, spark pounding. "Lord Megatron," he said scrambling to rework his report so that it would convey the amount of respect the warlord demanded. The formal words sounded awkward in his processor. The Prime did not insist on over-the-top formality. Every mech and femme from Ironhide to the lowest ranked soldiers simple called him "Prime" or "Sir" and that was that. Jazz decided he hadn't missed these ridiculous displays of respect. He was already small compared to Megatron, now he felt downright tiny. The malice that always seemed to radiate from the warlord added and unwanted flavor of vulnerability to the small feeling.

"You do not have much time, _spy_ ," Megatron spat the word like his most trusted officer, Soundwave, wasn't a spy himself. "I hope your report is worth the effort," he added stalking forward. Jazz watched his feet approach and tried not to cringe.

"Yes, Lord Megatron. I have updated schematics for the ship; the exact location of Wheeljack's labs and his routine habits," Jazz said forcing his voice to stay calm instead of wishing he was outside under sniper fire. "Security is…impressive, but I have an overview of basic security measures to get into the bridge as well as the science halls and armory."

A rumbling sound that couldn't quite be called a laugh came from the warlord. "Very good. What of their next colony stop?" Megatron paced a slow circle around Jazz, making every plate on his body itch with the need to turn and keep the towering mech in his sight.

Jazz swallowed discreetly and felt condensation break out on his spinal relay. "That I do not know, Lord Megatron. They are aware that information has been leaving the _Ark_ and have now kept that information restricted." Megatron's feet passed in front of him again as he continued his slow circling. Jazz was used to reading mechs so he could tailor his actions. Megatron's clawed feet weren't telling him anything. But if he dared to lift his head without the warlord giving him leave to do so would not end well for him.

Growling low in his chest Megatron said, "Red Alert." His name was said as a curse and Jazz had to agree. "Send what you have to Soundwave," Megatron ordered, looming over him. His shadow an almost physical weight. Jazz clamped down on the spark of indignation trying to ignite in his processor. He'd done the impossible for Megatron but the warlord treated him like a new recruit. He was well aware he was one of Soundwave's best agents but no one would be able to tell that if they walked in and saw him with his face almost on the floor while Megatron stood over him. After spending decacycles with the Autobots he had a new appreciation for how humiliating his current position was.

"Transmitting now," Jazz said softly. It only took a few seconds for Soundwave to acknowledge the files received and nothing else. Jazz clamped his teeth together while he waited for his dismissal. Once the warlord gave him leave Jazz could return to the field and stab a few mechs to feel better. He wasn't Megatron's equal. No one was Megatron's equal, but his small Polyhexian frame was still lethal. He'd worked hard to make it that way.

Again, the sound that wasn't quite a laugh filled the small space. "Well done, _spy_. I did not expect such work from such a distasteful frametype. Seems you are useful yet." Jazz ground his teeth together so he wouldn't dig his claws into the floor. He was _not_ some stupid Poly from a backwater pond. He'd done what Soundwave, in his centicycles of service, had been unable to do. He was living aboard the _Ark_. He was the only reason Megatron even knew where the Autobots were right now.

"Shall I return to my te—post," he said in a carefully respectful inquiry after the warlord had been quiet for several breems. He was sick of staring at the floor and was really looking forward to shooting the first person that gave him the wrong look.

"Idiot," Megatron hissed. "You think the Autobots don't know you're missing already? Leave tactical decisions to those more suited. You will remain here as a prisoner until the _noble_ Autobots come for you."

If nothing was confirmed, he could find his team and say he'd gone after a 'Con and gotten lost in the smoke and burning trees. He caught himself before he could say anything and instead waited silently for further instruction. His neck and back were beginning to ache from the hard landing he'd had and the hard run and now holding the awkward bow for however long he'd been in the warlord's presence.

A vicious kick to his midsection came from nowhere, knocking him to the side and rending his secondary intakes on his right side useless. Gasping and blinking at the swimming ceiling he tried to breathe. Burning red optics, like the heart of fire, glared down at him with malicious delight. "And as a prisoner, the Autobots have certain…expectations," the warlord purred as a clawed hand wrapped around Jazz's neck pricking his lines hard enough to draw energon. Tossing him almost casually against the bulkhead jarred Jazz's processor hard enough his audios had to reboot. Sharp claws tore into his combat armor until they scraped his exoform.

Searing pain raked through his processor when his arm was jerked out of place. He still couldn't hear, but the grind and crunch he felt as gears were twisted and cables torn vibrated in his head. Another kick to his midsection sent him skidding across the floor to slam into the other bulkhead. Gasping as his tanks attempted to purge he cradled his arm against his chest.

Hands around his neck again and he was breathing hard with most of his secondary intakes unresponsive. A fist landed hard in his midsection and if his throat hadn't been constricted he would have purged. As it was the acidic burn of energon climbed up his strotta until it reached the squeezing fist and retreated. Claws tore down his vulnerable abdere where the armor was dented and compromised from the previous strikes. Trying to breathe his audios came back in time for him to hear his scream as his dislocated arm was seized. Cold darkness reared up in his processor as he was flung again by his injured arm. Systems succumbed to shock and began offlining. Jazz didn't fight it. He threw himself into the darkness, the last thing he saw before unconsciousness overwhelmed him were Megatron's ruby red optics looking down at him.

 **oOo**

An attempted forced reboot tore Jazz's processor out of cold darkness with battle protocols humming to life. Agony blazed bright in his mind when he tried to move his arm and he collapsed, this time fighting off the darkness that beckoned him. Someone was trying to get into his head. Dragging in a gurgling, rattling breath of air his optics onlined to find blazing blue instead of fiery red. "Can you move?" a familiar voice he couldn't place asked. Past the blue optics sheets of metal made up a flimsy roof.

Huffing he tried again to sit up and the familiar-mystery mech helped him up. Whatever slow part of his processor was dragging its feet finally caught up to the rest of him. "Beachcomber?" he asked in a hoarse voice. Primus, if Megatron screwed up his vocalizer like he did Starscream's Jazz was going to be _pissed_. He started to look down at his throbbing frame and then didn't. He didn't want to know what kind of mess he looked like. He could feel energon beginning to seep from the wounds he jostled just by sitting up. Around him were four walls made of the same flimsy metal. Temporary containment.

"Can you move?" Beachcomber repeated. The laid back mech was nowhere to be seen. Sharp optics raked over Jazz's frame quickly and ruthlessly categorizing his injuries and how much they would slow him.

"Need help up," Jazz said in a ragged whisper. Beachcomber held out his hand and Jazz clasped his forearm. Beachcomber's other arm circled to his back and helped him as he levered himself up. Pain made him suck in a shallow sharp breath. His dislocated arm stayed limp and useless at his side and feeling like plasfire had been dumped on it. Swallowing against the nausea he stumbled after Beachcomber when the Kalisian spun around in lethal silence and pulled off a sheet of metal and set it to the side. Jazz limped after him putting his all into moving silently.

No shouts of alarm were raised as he ducked out behind the tall mech. Evening sun blazed an orange path through the temporary camp that looked like it had been hit with a strafing run. Bodies still lay where they'd fallen, the stench of energon and internals sat heavy in the air. "Stay close," Beachcomber ordered tersely. "'Cons scattered after the camp got hit. We haven't tracked them all down." And the Autobots would track them down. The ship he'd met Megatron on had only been big enough for a handful of mechs. He couldn't see the warlord sending additional ships to pick up his wounded or stranded.

Pushing himself to keep up with the Kalisian's long strides Jazz's frame came alive with pain that almost dropped him to his knees. His strotta felt raw and his abdere cramped so bad he had to shorten his already short steps. Lacerations on his back he couldn't remember getting began to leak energon freely.

Jazz slowed their progress considerably but he kept his mouth shut as Beachcomber led him surefooted over the destroyed landscape, stepping over bodies and broken trees. Jazz couldn't be bothered to look around and see the toll of battle. His optics focused on Beachcomber's back as he bullied his body forward a step at a time.

Beachcomber didn't speak until artificial light on the horizon announced the colony. The sun was on its last gasp, darkness stretching over the landscape and stars burning through the last of the orn's blue sky. "Jazz, Prowl's going to take a piece out of you after Ratchet fixes you," Beachcomber said at last. He stopped and turned to pin the smaller mech with a fierce stare that wasn't hostile, but was unrelenting. "You broke formation and got caught. You can't fraggin' do that. You ever find yourself getting dragged to a 'Con camp ever again you find a way to cut lines or put a round in your head."

Jazz rocked back, his wounded body not compensating quickly enough for the change in position and he stumbled back two steps. "The frag?" he said not sure if his voice was breathless because it was still hard to breathe or from that cold statement.

"You're _Ark_ crew," Beachcomber said matter-of-factly, that stare still boring into Jazz. "You've got too much in your head the 'Cons don't need to know. If Soundwave had been here to hack you Megatron would know about Bumblebee, First Aid, and Bluestreak. That can _not_ happen. No Decepticon can ever know about them. We do not get taken alive. Period."

From the smoke and mist and darkness, Mirage wavered into existence a few steps from Beachcomber and Jazz almost fell over again. His damaged scanners didn't pick up any sign of the mech until he turned off his electromagnetic disrupter. "We all save one round for ourselves," he said, not apologizing for the scare. Jazz swallowed hard and after a long moment nodded once. Mirage addressed Beachcomber, "ETA five breems." And then he was gone again, his pale white and blue frame gone like he'd never been there.

"Come on, Ratchet's waiting," Beachcomber said starting to lead him parallel to the colony to a scorched field where weapons and twisted bodies still lay. Jazz kept his optics on his feet and his audios on Beachcomber's quiet steps.

He hadn't told Megatron about the mechlings. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind. Surprising relief washed through him. They were still safe from the warlord and Beachcomber's statement indicated they would always be safe from the warlord. The tough, scarred, and battle-blooded frontliners were willing to take their own lives to ensure that. But, if they were willing to do that, a sniper like Moonracer would have no compunction putting a round through him if they thought he had been "captured" again. Next time he found himself in a Decepticon camp, it would be the Unmaker coming to get him.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** Oh. My. Four chapters left! I know I said it would be a couple weeks before an update came out, but I looked at my writing schedule and saw I had this fic scheduled to be wrapped up by the end of September so I can get into my Red Alert/Jazz story. So! Hopefully I can get the next four chapters out this week!

By the way, I wrote this chapter to the soundtrack of Disturbed _Darkness_ , Johnny Cash's cover of _Hurt_ , and Evanescence _Missing_.

Thank you for R/R/F/F!


	13. Chapter 13

The painkiller Ratchet injected him with made him feel better until the medic laid into him with wrench and welder. He'd been stoic about the pain for approximately three breems before he actually growled at the medic, who hissed back with such venom Jazz returned to being stoic. He couldn't really feel Ratchet prying armor off and suturing his exoform back together but the pressure and the occasional sharp stab that made it through was there and it made his tanks do flips. He was going to _hurt_ in the morning.

He didn't think Ratchet was needlessly cruel, just rough and pressed for time. Decepticon medics didn't believe in painkiller and sometimes poked mechs with welders in sensitive places just to see what they'd do. Ratchet didn't have the malicious glee in his optic like they did. There was a laser focus to him as he catalogued injuries and barked orders for tools and coordinated his med bay. The Twins were both lounging with energon drips heckling the CMO, until Ratchet threatened to tell Prowl about their high grade stash. "Pain in my aft, rusted out, half-bit glitched, smelter fragging…" the expletives went on as the medic cut away the armor around Jazz's dislocated shoulder. Lapsing into sulky silence it wasn't long before the energon loss caught up to them and they drifted in and out of light recharge as the med bay began to wind down.

Many of the berths were full. He saw Cliffjumper's distinctive red closer to the door deep in recharge. Arcee was getting a patch on her shoulder talking quietly to the secondary medic doing the work. Occasionally the two of them would laugh softly. Hound was passed out on another berth with an IV drop and new sutures over his chest and abdere.

Hissing out a breath of pain when the armor gave way he bit back the urge to growl again. Turning his attention away from the growling medic to the few other berths occupied. His attention inevitably was drawn to a berth farthest from the noise and commotion where silver wings caught the light. Prowl dozed fitfully, his wings spreading and resettling every few breems. Deep lacerations on his legs and lower portion of his wings were the work of Ravage. Patches covered the deepest wounds and plasma burns scarred his chest and shoulders. Jazz thought the med bay wasn't busier because the Decepticons had spent their forces trying to bring the Praxian down.

The med bay door hissed open and Ratchet swung around with a growl rumbling in his chest. Red Alert walked in with Bluestreak clinging to his chest, chirping in fright. Ratchet's hostile sound cut off and instead he glared at the security director. Red Alert ignored him. Raising and lowering his cephalic fins with a hard snap, Ratchet turned back to Jazz's shoulder. Red Alert navigated the med bay with ease while Bluestreak watched everyone with frightened optics.

Prowl's optics flickered a few times before one cracked open. It looked like Ratchet had him on the _good_ stuff. "He breaks those welds, Red Alert, and the new patches are coming straight from your frame," Ratchet snapped. Canting his head only a fraction in the medic's direction was Red Alert's only response. Bluestreak didn't pay any attention to the medic reaching out tiny arms to Prowl. Prowl blinked slowly, optics cloudy and dull with medication. Growling again, Ratchet returned to Jazz's shoulder, carefully checking wires, gears, and cables.

Red Alert set Bluestreak next to Prowl's less damaged shoulder and leaned forward to say something quiet in Prowl's audio. The Praxian's optics slipped shut again and didn't open. Bluestreak snuggled into the blankets next to his guardian, fluffing them up as much as he could to make a little nest and then squeaking softly at Red Alert. "I'll be right here," Red Alert said, his toneless voice didn't carry far in the large bay. Bluestreak sighed and put his head on Prowl's shoulder to recharge. True to his word, Red Alert stayed at the head of Prowl's berth, ice blue optics watching the quiet activity of the med bay.

Ratchet finally rolled Jazz's shoulder back into place with a nauseating _pop_. "Oh," Jazz said a little breathless, not feeling the pain per say, but feeling squish and crunch of the joint being reset. "I'ma hear that sound in my nightmares," he said feeling a touch ill.

Ratchet snorted. "Frontliners." There was an implied optic roll to go with the word, but the medic didn't take his attention off what he was doing. "Hoist, see if you can find Wheeljack, will you? He's not answering me which means he's probably forgotten to get First Aid dinner." Jazz huffed a laugh and swore under his breath when the soft sound jostled his shoulder. The glitchy engineer was something else.

Hoist rolled his optics up to the ceiling. "Yeah, I'll round 'im up. Beta, Starkiss get these tools put away and then get some recharge. The two femmes gave him soft answers and moved to finish Hoist's work. Both looked a bit tired, but didn't have the spark hurt in their optics they'd had after the colony. They looked better than they had in the kels since the colony. Jazz canted his head to listen to their conversation while Ratchet checked the lacerations on his back. Most of their medical lingo went straight over his head but judging by their body language and the way Beta's optics occasionally flashed with insight he thought the battle had in some inverse way helped them deal with the destroyed colony.

"They look better," he said softly.

Ratchet's hands didn't pause. "They had a chance to save lives. It's why they decided to be medics. Getting to mechs and femmes after the spark has gone out is always hard." Jazz held back a shudder as he felt his exoform being gently pulled as he was stitched back together. No matter how skilled Ratchet was, there was something tank churning about knowing he should be feeling pain but only feeling the pressure of fingers pinching his exoform together.

He glanced at Prowl again. Red Alert was still as a statue, his optics the only things moving. Prowl made a soft sound and shifted and Bluestreak woke up just a little, just enough to squeak and snuggle closer to him. Red Alert moved an arm and his hand stroked down the side of Prowl's head. The gesture was oddly languid when so often his movements were sharp and precise. Prowl's frame settled once more, his head turning slightly into the touch.

His audios picked up the patter of tiny feet a few seconds before First Aid ran into the med bay. Bright wide optics shared the same fearful look as Bluestreak as he looked around. He scurried over to the Twins first and put his chin on the edge of the berth so he could see as much of Sideswipe as possible. "First Aid," Ratchet called softly as he stepped away from Jazz. "Come here mechling, they're all right. The longer they're in recharge the fewer dents they'll have come morning." The youngling ran straight to Ratchet and wrapped his arms around his guardian's leg. "Jazz, you're here for the night while those welds set. You'll also have to recharge on your back to keep stress off that shoulder." Looking down at the youngling clinging to his leg his tone softened. "Come on First Aid, I need to wash my hands. Tell me what you did with Wheeljack. Did he remember to feed you?"

" _Yes_ , I remembered to feed him," Wheeljack said standing in the doorway, arms crossed and fins glowing soft red and a very annoyed look on his face.

"I had to tell him," First Aid said. Wheeljack's fins shot to bright white when Ratchet turned a glare on him. Giggling at the exchange both Beta and Starkiss bid Ratchet good night and slipped out the door. Wheeljack gave the femmes and bright smile before immediately returning to glowering at Ratchet.

"I still fed him."

"Come mechling," Ratchet said waiting to move until First Aid released his leg. First Aid paced beside him while looking all around the med bay with his scared optics. Jazz's spark gave a twinge seeing the small mechling so far from his vibrant self. He wanted to say something to make him feel better but comforting words refused to come. All of his centicycles of experience manipulating mechs to think how he wanted them to think and none of it was of any use when it came to the frightened youngling.

"Everyone's okay now, right?" he asked as Ratchet started cleaning his hands. "Everyone will be okay? The…monsters are gone?" He held tight to Ratchet's leg again, this time his optics darting to the shadows under berths and gathered in the doorway of the office. Jazz slowly lay back on his berth also looking in the shadows where mechs like Ravage liked to hide. His shoulder ached at the new position, energon having an easier time flowing to it now that he was reclining. The new sutures on his back also ached with a dull throb that would be a burning pain when the drugs wore off.

Kneeling down Ratchet pulled the youngling tight against his chest. "Everyone is fine. They'll be back to themselves in a few septorns." Brushing his hand across First Aid's cephalic fins he pressed a kiss to his youngling's head. "You are safe here. There are no monsters here." Scooping him up he also picked up a datpad and started at the other end of the room checking vitals and the recharge state of his patients.

First Aid clung tight to him like he had at the devastated colony. Ratchet checked over his first patient in silence. Before getting to the next femme he turned his head enough to press his cheek against First Aid's head. "Has Wheeljack told you how many moon's Cybertron has?" he asked softly.

First Aid's cephalic fins rose a bit and he shook his head. Smiling at his little mech Ratchet shifted him higher on his hip. "There are six moons. In Ahnkmor, they are called Saqr, Thaealab, Burj Aleaqarb, Namurr, 'Arnab, and Suhulia." First Aid's fins rose more and his fearful cling to Ratchet's neck relaxed as he waited to hear more. Jazz wouldn't admit it, but he was interested too. All he knew about Ahnkmor was that was hot, dry, and the inhabitants were not a frametype any mech wanted to be glitching around with.

"Why're they called that?" First Aid asked. His fear swept away by young curiosity.

"They are the names of different animals. Each animal has a palace on their moon and from there they collect sparks and add them to the night sky." Ratchet explained, hinting just enough First Aid's curiosity overtook everything else and he returned to his usual joyful self.

First Aid's little fins flicked all the way up in cute astonishment. "But how did they get on the moons? Wheeljack says moons are really far away." He added in a voice that said he wouldn't take anything less than the most convincing story Ratchet had to make him believe Wheeljack was mistaken.

A smile kicked up the corner of Ratchet's mouth. "The Suns made the palaces for the animals after the six of them did the Suns a great kindness." First Aid snuggled closer to his guardian, optics wide and waiting for the story. Jazz tilted his head a bit to watch the CMO circle the med bay with slow measured steps as he meticulously checked his patients.

"A long time ago, there were five Suns and they were the only ones who lived in the sky. During the orn when they were awake everything was bright and warm and animals could see to gather food or run from predators. At night though, when the Suns recharged, everything was cold and so dark none of the animals could see anything. They couldn't gather food or hunt their quick prey. After many vorns of hunger the predators like the thaelab and namurr and burj aleaqarb complained to the Suns that while their light kept them warm during the orn, there was so much of it they couldn't sneak up on their prey and at night it was so dark they couldn't see their own noses."

"I don't like the dark," First Aid said in a soft voice, fear creeping back in. "Or the cold dark." His fins slicked flat against his head and wriggled around so he was closer to Ratchet's spark. The medic patiently shifted him until the mechling was comfortable again.

"I know mechling," he murmured pressing a kiss to his head. "That's why the Suns decided every night two of them would stay awake and in the sky, but to make it easier for the predators to hunt they would make themselves very small so there would be just enough light to see by. This made the predators happy, but the prey animals didn't like it at all. They could stay safe during the orn but at night it was easy for the predators to sneak up on them."

"A pair of songbirds who were terrified a saqr would get their chicks in the night decided they would make the night dark as it used to be. They schemed to push the small Suns from the sky while they were trying to stay awake. They asked the abn awaa to help them. As soon as the Suns fell the abn awaa were meant to laugh at them. Those Suns and the others would be so irritated and embarrassed none of them would want to stay awake at night again."

A frown crossed First Aid's face. "That's not nice," but he closed his optics and continued listening to Ratchet's story. Sideswipe snorted but his optics didn't open. Ratchet ignored the red twin and smiled again at his mechling.

"The songbirds waited until the next night and then they flew up as high and fast as they could to scare the Suns. They flew straight up and shrieked at the Suns who were so startled they fell, but they didn't catch themselves on the heavens like the songbirds thought they would. They were too small and they slipped through. Instead the Suns fell all the way down to Cybertron."

"They hit the ground and shattered into millions of pieces. The abn awaa were so shocked they couldn't laugh and instead ran away with all the other animals that were frightened by the noise. The other Suns woke when they heard the crash and returned to the sky to see had happened. The Three Suns were horrified to see their siblings in so many pieces. Already, some of the small pieces were beginning to fade, not strong enough to stay lit without the greater whole."

"Some of the braver animals ventured from their burrows and roosts to see what had happened. A tiny 'arnab was the first to end her shock. Picking up a burning piece of the sun she started making a pile of all the small pieces she could lift. Soon, the sunhilia that had been hunting for a meal turned away from his hunger and also started gathering pieces to add to the pile. The burj aleaqarb too scuttled about, digging pieces out from under bushes and between rocks. A saqr took flight to reach the trees and high mountain peaks where pieces had been caught. A thaelab found bigger pieces and added them to the pile. And a great namurr collected the biggest pieces."

"The Suns were broken into so many pieces though the others knew they could never be as they had been. But, so long as the pieces stayed close to each other they continued to burn with light. Once many of the pieces had been gathered the remaining Three Suns picked up the piles and took them into the sky. 'Their light is too small now to ever be seen while we are awake,' one of the Suns said. 'But they will be the brightest lights in the sky while we recharge.' The Suns scattered the pieces across the sky making sure they covered all of it so no place on Cybertron would ever be without light."

"They were so grateful to the animals that had gathered the pieces of the fallen Suns they asked them to continue searching for the small pieces still missing. The animals agreed to help and the Three Suns gave each of them a palace to live in high in the sky. The most problematic pieces to find were those that had been scattered into the elements. There their heat fused with earth and fire and water and in the highest mountains where the wind never ceases, air. The Suns' light stayed safe wrapped in the elements and didn't fade unless the elemental shell broke. Then the animals could see the shard and returned to Cybertron to fetch it and return it to the sky with the others to keep it lit."

"It didn't take long for the Suns' shards to become coveted by greedy animals. To save themselves, the Suns' shards began making their protective layers bigger and stronger until they became the first Cybertronians." Ratchet glanced at First Aid and walked to the back of the med bay gently stroking the youngling's back. Without waking him, Ratchet transferred First Aid to Red Alert. The imposing Gygaxian took the youngling with experienced hands and First Aid didn't stir when he was cradled against a spark that wasn't Ratchet's. Bluestreak chirruped softly when Ratchet did a brief scan on him but stayed in quiet recharge next to Prowl.

"Prowl has not heard that one in its entirety. He'll be displeased he missed it," Red Alert said in a voice that didn't carry far in the large room. Ratchet snorted and continued his rounds, much faster now that he was done with the story and First Aid was recharging peacefully.

Jazz relaxed on his berth letting his optics drift closed while he thought about the story. It was pretty neat. He didn't know anything about Ahnkmor culture or religion, didn't realize a frametype known for being short-tempered and barbaric could have such a complex story.

That night, he dreamed of falling gods with silver wings.

 **oOo**

Two orns later Jazz was sitting in the dispensary very, _very_ , carefully rolling his shoulder up and down trying to loosen it. It had only taken a night for the joint to tighten up so much he thought one of the junior medics might've welded it while he was out cold. "Hatchet catches you doin' that he'll put a wrench through your head," Trailbreaker said glancing at the door. Ratchet hadn't been seen much in the halls since Prowl and a few others were still in need of care but he usually brought First Aid down for at least one of his meals.

Jazz slumped back in his chair. "Ah know, but Pit and Primus it fraggin' hurts." Trailbreaker sat next to him with his ration. "No little 'Bee to keep you busy this morning?" Jazz asked looking around the room for the hyperactive youngling.

"Nope," Trailbreaker said cheerfully, "He's with Springer 'til I get off shift then we switch." Jazz was about to ask him how the little mech was dealing with the aftermath of battle when the whole ship shuddered hard enough knock energon rations over. A massive _**bang**_ made the lights flicker. Trailbreaker was up and moving to the door before Jazz finished processing the noise.

 _Combat teams initiate defense, Decepticon boarding in progress level fourteen._ Red Alert's voice came through his comm. link and Jazz headed for the door. The rest of the room had already cleared out, all heading to their assigned rendezvous with their combat teams. Jazz had to pull up the files to find where he was supposed to be. He was never on ships when Decepticons made their moves so he'd never bothered to really read over the hostile boarding procedures. He kept his comm. link open to figure out where the Decepticons were so he could avoid firefights for the time being.

A high squeal pierced his head making him stumble against the wall. The hack came like lightning through his communications. He pushed back for all of three seconds before he recognized Soundwave's distinctive signature and gave up. Shaking his head to clear the pain stabbing him like daggers he continued staggering down the hall.

It was disorienting having Soundwave in his head. It felt like his entire body was half a second behind his thoughts. Feeling how awkward his stride was he nonetheless ran-stumbled in the direction where Arcee was coordinating her team.

 _Second hull breach starboard side level twelve._ Red Alert's voice didn't inspire warm confidence like Prowl's but the cold clinical tone was like a splash of cold water on Jazz's face. Even if he wasn't actively fighting the hack his involuntary systems were still trying to kick Soundwave out. If Soundwave had just _asked_ for an uplink he wouldn't be so dizzy or feel like his processor was going to fragment. He tripped over his own feet and rolled, dizziness rolling through him like he was in zero gravity. Using the wall, he pulled himself up and continued his overcharged zigzag path down the hall. Combat leaders continued issuing orders, Red Alert adapting his strategy as more information came in. Jazz spared a second of processor power to admire how efficient Red Alert was. The uptight mech didn't seem like he'd be flexible enough to coordinate during a live battle, but there wasn't a hitch or pause in his orders.

 _Gamma squad, vacate hall Twelve Echo. Teams, prepare for decompression."_ Jazz slid to a stop and threw himself against the wall seconds before another enormous _**bang**_ shuddered through the ship. Lurching forward again Jazz clenched his jaw and forced his processor to focus. He was starting to hear fighting now, faint screams and shrieks. Taking a shortcut down one of the lower laboratory halls he rounded a corner and narrowly missed a plasma shot to the chest. Throwing himself back he rolled on the floor and had to try twice to get his limbs coordinated enough to get him up.

In his head, Red Alert's cold clipped voice continued issuing orders as combat teams tried to get the upper hand, but wherever Red Alert redirected there were Decepticons waiting, curtesy of Soundwave and Jazz. Jazz hadn't heard anything about Decepticons being in the lower levels though, so he'd probably had the wonderful misfortune of running headlong into the shadow team responsible for taking the bridge.

Getting to his feet he glared at the approaching Decepticons. Another wave of dizziness hit him brought on by the blurry red optics sighting him down a smoking barrel. _They look just like Bluestreak's pictures_. He thought before he drew his own blaster and fired back. The vent behind him clattered to the floor. Backpedaling to keep his sights on both targets he was floored again when quiet, prim and proper, nerdy _Perceptor_ dropped down with a high caliber rifle in his hand. Three shots rapid fire and the three Decepticons went down before they knew what was happening. "Fraggin Pit," Jazz said, gaping at the small scientist.

"You should get to your team," Perceptor said in his soft voice. He reloaded in seconds and faster than a Poly in water climbed back into the vents. Jazz stared at the dark hole in the ceiling for another handful of spark pulses before a faint scream further down spurred him into motion.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** I'm behind on schedule—again—but I went to Japan for nine days at the beginning of the month. It's really hard to write sad things when you're _really_ excited about what's going on. Anyway, I'm back in China and freezing because the heat isn't on yet so there will be more updates coming! I have three chapters left here and then I will be on to update _Make Believe_.

 **Advanced Warning:** Next chapter is M for violence and destruction of Feels.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	14. Chapter 14

Autobot and Decepticon bodies lay in the halls. Smoke still heavy and optic stinging was choking fog sometimes making it hard to see if shadows were mechs or burned pieces of the bulkhead. Rivulets and puddles of energon made the tiles slippery. Jazz ran to the sound of fighting, going around corners with more care.

Vicious snarls and screams of pain led him around a corner where he came up on Wheeljack backed against the wall with a team of Decepticons risking life and limb to bring him down. The blades on Wheeljacks wrists, elbows, knees, and head slashed out sending splatters and arcs of energon all over the walls and floors. Wheeljack lowered his head where the three long blades were coated in energon and pulsing vicious angry red. Smaller fins on either side of the blades flipped up and back making a loud snapping noise. The Decepticons hissed and growled.

Several were already dead on the floor; the first to rush the happy-go-lucky engineer and underestimate just how formidable Kalisians were. Long arms and legs gave Wheeljack the advantage and he couldn't be disarmed unless they literally un-armed him. He wouldn't be any good to Megatron like that. Jazz pulled out his blaster and shot into the crowd of Decepticons. His throbbing head made it hard to aim, but they were clustered and his wild shots did some damage. From further down the hall white hot streaks of plasma came through dropping two more Decepticons. Jazz fired at the ones still standing. Cursing a streak in Kaonian the leader called for retreat. Of the three left, two went down before they could take three steps. Snarling, the remaining 'Con spun around and unloaded a clip on Wheeljack. The engineer stumbled back against the wall and slid down limp to the floor.

Jazz stayed where he was, too shocked to even fire at the retreating 'Con. Megatron wanted Wheeljack _alive_. He had almost killed Starscream the one time the seeker had caught Wheeljack in a strafing run. Had something changed? He couldn't believe that. Wheeljack was…he was one of a kind, a genius that happened once in a lifetime. He was too important. But there was energon on the wall and Wheeljack was on the floor not moving with energon slowly spreading under him.

He blinked and his processor caught up to where he was now. Screaming. Someone was screaming. He blinked again Perceptor was suddenly with Wheeljack holding his hands over the worst damage Wheeljack's chest. "'Jack? Wheeljack?" The polite composure he'd managed to maintain was gone. "He needs Ratchet, right now," he said. Wheeljack was too tall for the small scientist to take and Jazz wasn't much bigger. But the energon pooling under Wheeljack was growing by the second.

"I…Ratchet…yeah, yeah," Jazz said still moving in a sluggish haze. Perceptor slung his rifle over his shoulder and grabbed Wheeljack's shoulders. Getting under the other shoulder Jazz staggered under the Kalisian's dead weight but little Perceptor didn't wait for him to adjust. Blinking rapidly a dozen times to force his mind to focus through the fire Soundwave's hack ignited in him he started walking.

Warm energon ran down his leg with every step making his foot slip on the tiles. Wheeljack's breaths gurgled in his chest and Perceptor's soft words to the unconscious engineer created a hum of background noise in Jazz's tortured head.

Shouts and weapon discharge filled the air. In the close halls of the ship it didn't take long for the stench of plasma and burning armor and scorched energon to permeate the air. They passed Brawn alone in a hall with six Decepticons. The small mech had an acid hole in his chest. The Decepticons still had looks of surprise and anger frozen on their faces. Perceptor made a pained sound when he saw the mech and hesitated like he would check for life. But Wheeljack was bleeding between them and he kept walking.

They did their best to avoid the heavy fighting, but the primary Decepticon force was between them and the med bay and Wheeljack didn't have time for lengthy detours. A metal rattling roar echoed through the halls and Jazz started to back away from whatever pit spawn was ahead. "No," Perceptor said breathless. "It's the Twins. Sunstreaker! Sideswipe!"

Jazz shook his head. "Twins, still in med bay," he said. Perceptor's laugh was hard and without humor. He didn't say anything else and he didn't need to because seconds later two blue-opticked demons straight from the rust Pit of the Unmaker himself came stalking around the corner. Covered in energon like blue was their new paint scheme the Twins' optics blazed with an unholy mix of fury, delight, and insanity. A smile that was all teeth and death stretched across Sideswipe's face, his hands and gauntlets dripping energon. Sunstreaker's optics were unblinking as he surveyed the hall.

Plasma shots came from the smoke and destruction behind them glancing off the tough frontliners' armor. Whirling around the Twins let loose a battle cry that could make the Unmaker curl up and surrender. The four Decepticons charging down the hall hadn't been able to see who they were firing at if their reaction was any indication. The leading femme slid on the energon slick tiles and ran straight back into the three mechs following her. Sunstreaker drew his twin blades and lunged forward heedless of whatever might be waiting behind the small force. Sideswipe caught a mech by the arm and dragged him back. The mechs's scream was cut short when the red twin—the one everyone said was the _sane_ one—tore the mech's throat out. Sunstreaker threw his blades putting them through two spark cases and bounded past the falling bodies. Grabbing the remaining mech he pummeled the mech until his armor buckled and smashed his fist through to crush his spark case.

It took less than a breem and when Sunstreaker retrieved his blades from the fallen Decepticons his unblinking stare was paired with a fanged smile that matched his brother's. In that moment when yellow twin turned around Jazz was certain the yellow Unmaker's Mech was going to kill all of them.

"Wheeljack needs a medic, now," Perceptor said either not feeling or outright ignoring the plate prickling insanity and violence rolling off the two malicious frontliners. Sideswipe lost his smile and focused on the smaller mech. Sunstreaker's unblinking stare also fell on Perceptor. There was a second of utter stillness between the two and then Sunstreaker twirled his twin blades once and turned around while Sideswipe stalked forward to take Wheeljack. Sunstreaker roared again and Jazz felt his spark stall for a few pulses. "Get to your team, Jazz," Perceptor said unslinging his rifle once more. He gave the Twins a final pained look as they charged into the fog of smoke with Wheeljack's limp body. "The Twins will get him there safely." Flicking off the safety he found a vent shaft and climbed up.

Jazz tried to wipe the energon off his side, off his shoulders, but only smeared it into the seams of his armor. He stopped trying and tried to wipe his hands on the walls to get as much off as he could. He took the side halls trying to stay out of the smoke and screams. Arcee's team was supposed to be in the lower levels.

Even the quiet halls were splattered and slick with energon. Light fixtures flickered and glass crunched under his feet as he tried to keep his body moving forward. Soundwave was still deep in his processor and the pain was beginning to blind him for seconds at a time as he tried to get to Arcee and his team. He staggered between the walls, sometimes slipping in internal fluids, sometimes tripping over bodies. The clash of battle carried to him as he moved deeper into the ship listening for Arcee. The orders Red Alert were issuing now didn't make sense to him. He was talking in code, sometimes his orders were only three words.

A wave of black pain washed over him and he continued forward blind until it pulled back and he sucked in a gasping breath. Images hazy and speckled with black dots made it hard to navigate hallways made unfamiliar by scorch marks and gouges and bodies. His foot hit something solid and he fell on his face, arms too uncoordinated to catch him in time. Swearing a long streak in Polyhexian he turned over and squinted at what had sent him sprawling. Familiar storm gray wings matted and torn were twisted under his legs. Swearing again he scrambled back and up. "Silverbolt, you—" Jazz stared at Silverbolt's headless body. "—okay?" he finished in a whisper. Scorch marks marred his armor and burned his wings. Internal fluids mixed with the energon congealing under him from where his abdere had been torn open. Jazz's tanks sloshed and energon backed up into his throat. Jazz's chest was covered in the cold fluids, he could feel it on his cheek.

Spinning around so he could take a breath without gagging he instead let out a short scream. Fireflight lay like a broken bird against the bulkhead. The seekerling's head was still attached but the energon pooling under him was more than he thought a young juvenile's body could hold. Lunging forward he dropped to his knees next to the small seeker. High powered scanners flicked on, adding another wash of fiery pain through his processor, and he stalled every system he could listening and searching for any sign of the little mech's spark pulse.

Faint and skipping and slow Fireflight's spark pulse was like a ghost skipping across his scanners. "Oh mechling, hang on. Hang on." He reached forward with his clawed hands and hesitated uncertain how to pick up a winged mech. But Fireflight was bleeding even though it looked like all the energon in his body was on the floor. Sliding one arm under the seekerling's shoulders he worked the other under his hip and started to lift him.

He was heavier than he looked. The strength and alloy seekers needed for flight already apparent in his slender shoulders. Halfway standing, Jazz realized one of the seekerling's wings wasn't rising with him. Sliced lines continued to leak energon as torn cables that were still attached quivered a breath away from snapping under the weight of the wing still mostly on the floor.

Putting the mechling down none too gently, Jazz took a step away breathing through his mouth and trying not to scream again. Swallowing twice he spat and clenched his teeth. The mechling was going to die if he didn't get to a medic. Carefully not looking at Silverbolt's torn corpse he turned back to Fireflight. Shaking hands reached out and again picked up the mechling's heavy body this time making sure he picked up the wing as well. Warm energon ran down his arm as he started walking as fast as he could with the mechling in his arms. Still swallowing compulsively he kept his optics forward and his scanners on Fireflight's weakening pulse.

He went up two halls before a familiar medic signature flickered on his peripheral HUD like a gift from Primus. Not willing to cry but feeling his optics stinging he angled for the signal wishing he could run without hurting the seekerling. "Beta?" he called, glad his voice didn't crack or sound hysterical. "I've got Fireflight, he's critical." He found Beta face down in the hall like a crushed flower between two heavy Autobot frontliners. Scorch marks from a plasma blast ran down her back and one of her legs was a splintered mess of energon. "Beta?" Her tag stayed in his HUD but there was no pulse on his scanners. The hall stayed tomb quiet. Looking down at Fireflight he turned away from Beta.

 **oOo**

"Medic!" Jazz's shout was drowned out by the noise of the med bay. Mechs with lesser injuries were lined up along the walls with junior technicians patching and welding as fast as they could. He looked down at Fireflight again. The mechling needed a miracle, but if Ratchet was even half of what his reputation said he was, then that might be enough. "Ratchet?"

Hoist appeared out of the chaos in front of him. The flawless professional mask stayed in place for less than a second. "Fireflight," even with the din of noise that soft word made it to Jazz's audios. "Mechling," the medic whispered. "Silverbolt?" he asked looking at Jazz. Jazz shook his head once. The medic took the seekerling from him not balking at the energon covering him or the open wounds on his body.

"His wing," Jazz said, "it's…it's not really attached anymore." Hoist's hands didn't tremble but the sorrow in his optics was enough to make Jazz's optics sting again. The medic took Fireflight with care, cradling him like he was his own mechling. Jazz watched him drop back into the kinetic chaos and searched for Ratchet's distinctive armor. He couldn't believe he wasn't hearing the Ahnkmorian.

In a quick break in the crowd he swore he saw Prowl standing but when he tried to find the Praxian's silver wings he only saw light reflecting off medical instruments. It was looking for those silver wings that he saw Ratchet. The imposing Ahnkmorian wasn't lording over his med bay as injuries continued to stream in, he was on a berth still as the world swirled around him.

He found his feet moving of their own accord. Wrongness assaulted him each time he caught the Ahnkmorian's motionless frame. Closer, he saw Wheeljack was next to him. Without his white and teal green armor the engineer's lanky silvery blue frame looked even slimmer. Transfusions kept him alive while spark monitors showed his pulse was too fast and weak. Next to him, Ratchet's dark taupe frame was like a shadow on the berth. His spark pulse was closer to normal but still too fast. Bandages swathed his chest and new slashes raked down his thigh and his shoulder near his neck.

Next to him was a berth so small it looked like a table. It took Jazz a moment to realize what was on it was a Cybertronian and not a strange medical tool. "First Aid?" he whispered. He crouched down next to the youngling hesitant to touch when the mechling looked so fragile. Energon seeped through the bandages on his arm and protective mesh covered part of his neck and chest that was seared by plasma burns. "Mechling?" he whispered again. First Aid didn't move. Tiny fingers curled around a small wrench as his chest rose and fell in short sharp breaths.

On another tiny berth Bumblebee lay utterly still. Transfusion and fluid lines came and went from the mechling in so many ways it looked like he was caught in a spider web. Hasty stitches and welds, just enough to keep him alive for the time being, crisscrossed his small frame. Claw marks that look like they were from a predacon raked down the side of his face. Jazz reached up and touched the too hot metal covering his communication panel. There weren't any true predacons on the ship, but there was a tiger symbiont vicious enough to attack a youngling somewhere onboard.

He started to reach out to the youngling who never held still. The youngling who clicked and chirped and buzzed and flitted about just like his namesake, but the light caught his claw-tipped fingers and he drew his hand back. They were both so fragile, so easy to accidentally hurt. Feeling his knees shake, Jazz forced himself to his feet. He still wasn't anywhere near his team. Although, he realized he wasn't hearing voices anymore. He did a diagnostic on his communications. Soundwave's hack was still active, other than that, everything was in order. He could open a direct line to Arcee and ask where she was, but if he did that the 'Cons would probably get to her before he did. He glanced back at the younglings, tiny and still, and didn't open the line.

"Got a unit fifteen strong headin' for us," Ironhide bellowed from the doorway. The medics didn't cease their work but the frontliners that could still stand and fight dragged themselves to their feet. A flash of silver and Jazz bit back a curse. Prowl walked through the crowd, limping badly on one side, but upright and issuing orders. Ironhide tossed him a scabbard and narrowed his optics at the SIC. "You stay back there." His tone left no room for negotiation. Prowl's tattered wings flared and he unsheathed the sword.

"So long as you stand," he said in a voice that carried over the noise. Ironhide nodded once. Jazz looked once more at the mechlings before leaving their side and running to the door. He drew a knife instead of a blaster. He was still dizzy from the hack. If a shot went wild he could hit a medic or patient.

Ironhide did a double take when he saw him. "Thought you were dead, why the Pit you not with Arcee?" his growling voice was almost enough to make Jazz flatten his fins.

He looked back into the med bay. "I had…I…Fireflight," he said not sure if his voice would carry.

"They got Fireflight, too?" a femme named Raider said, aghast. Fury lit her optics when the Decepticons' battle cry echoed down the hall. "Hurt our mechlings, I'll tear all of you apart!" The Autobots screamed their own challenge and the least injured frontliners charged to meet the Decepticon bruisers. Plasma and acid pellets scorched the walls and floor and frames. Screams vibrated against his audios with the singing ring of blades meeting. He saw a purple insignia and drove his knife into an exposed armor seam and twisting up. Energon arced from the wound and the frontliner fell.

He spun and saw another Decepticon trying to fight past an Autobot that had lost the use of an arm. Still, one handed, he was keeping the Decepticon at bay pretty well. Jazz jumped on the 'Con's back and drove his knife through the back up his head. "Groove?" Jazz said once the 'Con was down.

"'Sup, Jazzmech, gotta 'Con infestation. Pretty wild." He unholstered his blaster and shot a rushing Decepticon in the head. "Keep your head in it, mech. These glitches are multiplying. Dig it." A swift kick doubled over another assailant and another shot from his blaster finished the femme off.

A Decepticon body flew past him so close he felt the breeze across his face. The 'Con smashed against the wall dead from either the impact or whatever had hit him. Whirling around Jazz felt his energon freeze and spark stop for a second. Red Alert stood in the doorway of the med bay. His horns were washed with energon that cut lines down his head and dripped to his shoulders. Hefted on one shoulder was a massive war hammer. Prowl stood next to him with his blade held to the side, wings raised high over his shoulders. The weary and bleeding Autobots caught a second wind and renewed their pushback against the Decepticons.

Twirling the hammer like it was a piece of kindling Red Alert met the two Decepticons that rushed past the hall defenders. A vicious swing and one 'Con slammed into the wall with his chest caved. At the same time he lowered his horns and twisted his head catching the other 'Con in the neck and slicing open mainlines. Spinning the hammer again he swept the bleeding mech away with another hit. Ironhide let loose a barrage of plasma on the remaining Decepticons. Trying not to gag on the stink of burned circuits and internals Jazz returned to the front of the attack in time to see the handful of Decepticons still breathing staggering away. Raider came up next to him and with practiced ease shot the survivors as they tried to run. "Hall is clear," she said turning away from the bodies with holes in their backs.

"Decepticons are in full retreat. Raider, select four others, sweep medical and science halls," Red Alert said. He took Prowl's sword from him and said, "You should not be standing."

"I have to agree," Prowl said, optics washing out to pale blue from pain and energon loss. "Get…Bluestreak," he said to Red Alert. Ironhide caught the Praxian when he swayed and hoisted him into his arms.

Raider holstered her weapon. "Searchlight, Firestar, how's your leg?" she asked striding through the smoke heedless of the puddles of energon and internals on the floor. Bodies lined the hall, most with purple Decepticon insignias, but many with Autobot red.

A vent cover clattered to the floor and a petite red mech dropped down. "I will assist as well," Perceptor said. "Wheeljack's lab will need to be secured." There was a small waver when he said Wheeljack's name but the rest of his words were polite. Jazz could feel the energon dried on his side. Wheeljack's energon. Fireflight's was drying on his arms. Silverbolt's was on his face and his chest.

"Change of plans," Ironhide said striding back out. "Raider, Firestar, and Perceptor, secure the labs. The rest of you who can walk we've got a sparkling missin'. Blue's not in the office where Prowl left him. Best guess is he's going to be somewhere in the medical hall. Red Alert is checking quarters. Searchlight, get to security see if you can find where he ran too." The Autobots snapped to work. Searchlight's immaculate white armor was a pale blue from the veneer of energon he wore. Groove staggered back into the med bay holding his lifeless arm. A few others followed him or got close enough to the door they would be out of the way and collapsed against the wall.

Jazz started walking down the hall to start his own search for a tiny sparkling colored like ash and embers. He reached up to the flaking energon on his face and tried to scrub it off but only smeared the wet energon on his hand across his chin and neck. He avoided the worst of the pools of energon and internals but still left footprints as he crisscrossed the ship.

He found Morning Glory pinned to a wall with a knife in her throat. The small excitable femme stared sightlessly at Jazz when he pulled the knife loose and gently laid her on the floor. He knew all the faces of the Autobots he saw, even the ones so ripped and torn their faces were unrecognizable he knew their armor. He found the Twins helping Tracks and Moonracer to the med bay. Tracks leaned heavily on Sunstreaker as energon seeped through the quick patch on his leg. The side of Moonracer's head was a mess of energon and scorched circuits.

Near the bridge, the Prime himself carried Mirage to a lift. The spy had predacon bites and slashes on his face and neck. Jazz fled the halls when he saw Sky Lynx—in mech form—trying to keep Blaster awake as energon dripped from the mech's mouth and nose. Steeljaw lay next to him in a pool of energon.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** "Ashes of Eden" by Breaking Benjamin was the soundtrack for this one. If you _really_ want those feels to go through an acid bath.

Thank you for R/R/F/F!


	15. Chapter 15

In his quarters it took him two tries to turn on the water. Water washed away the still wet energon but most of it was dried on. It was all over his hands and arms, sticking to his chest and down his abdere and legs. Fireflight's energon and Wheeljack's. Prying off his gauntlets he tossed them to the corner of a room where the loud clatter made him flinch. Breaths shallow and fast he dug his claws into his hands trying to scrape the energon off. Jazz's shaking thoughts twisted around the words Blaster had spoken that first orn on the _Ark._ _I don't think anymech really thinks_ about how much a youngling can bleed. His claws opened lines on his hands as he tried to make the thoughts stop.

 _Monsters?_

 _It's not just soldiers that get shot_ it was little seekers colored like fire. And they bled and bled and bled. _With the damage to his wings he might not ever be able to fly on his own_. Prowl's quiet voice laced with pain as he watched a sparkling touch the sky. A little seeker bleeding on the floor with his wing torn off. Water stung the gouges on his hands. Wrenching the water off he stumbled back against the wall and caught his reflection in the mirror. Blue optics stared back at him wide and wild. _I don't think anymech really thinks_ about Wheeljack falling to the floor with holes in his chest. That scream he hadn't realized he was hearing until the Kalisian was still and unmoving.

 _There are no monsters here_

Blue optics stared back at him in the mirror. _They took them out to barren moons,_ Beta's small frame broken in a hall. She wasn't a threat to the frontliner that killed her _and killed them all._ Like the younglings bleeding in the med bay, the seekerling who was just learning to fly.

 _Monsters?_

 _All those little bodies_ in the med bay. First Aid burned and bleeding. _You can't say you're gonna drop plasfire and only hit adults_. Tiny medic holding a scanner too big for his little hands. Little hands taping up broken flowers. Jazz stared at his reflection in the mirror. Blue, blue optics stared back at him. Autobot blue. Blue like the flower Bluestreak drew a septorn ago.

 _Nothing will harm you_

With a shriek he lunged forward and slammed his hands against the mirror. It cracked, making a kaleidoscope of blue optics staring back at him. He hit it again slicing open his palms before making a fist and hammering the broken pieces until they ripped his knuckles open and dropped to the floor. Shrieking again he hit the dull metal back denting the faint glow of blue he could still see staring at him.

 _Monsters?_

He dropped to his knees breathing hard, crunching the shards of mirror under his armor. On the floor the shards reflected broken bits of Autobot blue. Optical fluid dropped on the broken pieces of the mirror and his hands. Words lodged in his throat making it hard to breathe. He opened his mouth to spit them out but they stayed stuck like razors. A low keen of pain was the only thing to make it past the words that refused to come out.

 _Monster go 'way now_


	16. Chapter 16

When his chronometer clicked over to the first joor of fourth shift he finally struggled to his feet. His hands a bloody mess and swollen and stiff he forced the digits to curl around the edge of the sink. He dragged himself up and dry unfocused optics looked over the energon smeared across the broken shards of mirror and splattered on the sink the wall around the mirror mounting. It looked like a crime scene.

The energon that had smeared into the seams of his armor stuck like glue. Prying off his armor he let the bars drop to the floor and crawled into the shallow bathtub. Forcing one hand open enough to turn the water one he didn't flinch when the frigid water splashed over him. Hot water came out soon enough and he slid his head down letting the warm water lap over his head.

The automatic shut off kicked the water off before the tub overflowed. Jazz stayed submerged exhausted and unable to recharge. Pain radiated from his hands up his arms to his elbows. He was certain at least one of his fingers was broken but couldn't find the energy to really investigate it. He needed to go to the med bay.

Back to the med bay with the little mechlings. And Wheeljack. Prowl. Curling into a tight little ball he tried to stop thinking. The energon that had dried to him began to loosen tinting the water a pale, pale blue. Fireflight's energon and Wheeljack's and Silverbolt's.

Thrashing upright he scrubbed his face with his claws. The hard movement made his fingers burn like fire but he didn't stop until his face was hot and he couldn't feel the phantom coldness of Silverbolt's energon. He did the same to his chest and shoulders, scraping them raw until his energon mixed with all the others' in the water.

Dragging himself out he hit the drain and before the water was halfway gone turned on the shower. Soap stung the shallow wounds and the pain from his hands had him breathing through clenched teeth but he scrubbed all over until his entire body was hot and raw and tiny cuts from his claws leaked energon down the drain.

Fourth shift was almost over when he finally stumbled out of the bathroom. His body was stiff and ached with every step he took but he dug out his spare set of armor and clicked it on. His body moved in sluggish autopilot; routine so ingrained it kept him tethered to the here and now. He picked up his blaster and holstered it and tucked his knives into their rightful places even though it hurt to grip them.

Leaving the room he balked at the bright lights. The hall was eerily silent. Swallowing past the razors in his throat he started walking to the med bay. He didn't hear voices or music or the happy chatter of mechs and femmes going to shift. There was no squeal of younglings chasing each other through the halls or Blaster's distinctive voice. It was crypt silent and it reminded him too much of the _Nemesis_.

If he passed anyone in the hall he didn't remember seeing them. His optics focused on a distant point while a cacophony of voices that weren't his played over and over in his head. Energon still stained the walls and floors. The bodies that hadn't been removed were set along the edge so mechs wouldn't have to walk over them. He paused for a long moment when he found Beachcomber. Approaching footsteps kicked his body back into motion and he stopped looking at the bodies he passed.

Ratchet's voice didn't carry from the med bay. There was hardly any noise outside of the beeps and hums of machines keeping mechs and femmes alive. His optics came back into focus. Just past the doorway Hoist and Grapple were deep in recharge against the wall leaning against each other. Other medics were also scattered about the room recharging on the floor like they had dropped mid-step. Jazz's hands throbbed, but the thought of waking one of the exhausted and spark hurt medics made him feel a little ill.

It was easier to find Ratchet without bodies constantly moving around the room. He and Wheeljack lay still and quiet. Wheeljack with neater bandages on his chest but energon still speckled the sterile cloth. First Aid also had better applied bandages and his little face didn't carry the lines of pain it had, had the last time Jazz saw him. His small body looked more fragile than Vosian blown glass. He didn't see Bumblebee next to First Aid anymore and his spark began to beat too fast in his chest.

Legs beginning to tremble he looked around the med bay for the small youngling. Trailbreaker's dark body caught his attention. The big mech was in fitful recharge next to Hound. The old scout was no longer breathing on his own and the wounds he'd sustained in the colony battle had been added to. Springer recharged on another berth with bandages covering one side of his face. Next to him was a much smaller berth with a tiny dark frame still taking a transfusion. Shaking spreading from his legs to his torso he hugged himself so his armor wouldn't rattle.

Swallowing he made himself turn his head to the corner farthest from the door. Beautiful silver wings were tattered and mangled with burns and slices. Prowl's frame was covered in bandages and welds and patches and sutures. He was so still if not for the spark monitor Jazz wouldn't have known he was still fighting.

Next to him, wings like fire were supported with a spider web of braces and fluid lines. Fireflight lay on his chest deep in stasis. Jazz looked around the med bay again but didn't see any other small berths. Prowl was alone on his berth but even in recharge there was a ghost of pain on his face. Jazz moved toward him and passed Groove fidgeting on his berth.

He lifted his hand and hesitated as the mech rolled his head back and forth on his pillow. A frown creased between Groove's optics and Jazz gently touched his uninjured shoulder. He wondered for a moment if the mech was dreaming about Beachcomber. They had been looking forward to seeing the next colony, a place with mountains and beautiful views. Groove didn't settle and Jazz took his hand back.

Closer to the office Blaster lay still and quiet with Steeljaw and Eject on either side of him. Breath whistled in and out of him quick and shallow. Eject had his wings braced in a similar way to Fireflight. The feathers on his right side were black from fire and in places mesh overlay raw exoform. Steeljaw had his chest wrapped and his hind leg set in a cast. The electricity that usually snapped through his mane was muted to dull flickers.

His audios seized a distraction before he could force himself to walk over and get a better look at the mech. The office door muffled the voices but he was certain the one that had caught his attention was the Prime's. Giving Blaster one last guilty look he crept over to the office door.

"They've already had him an orn, he cannot stay there any longer." Angry with a snarl underlying every word Jazz didn't recognize the voice until he did a quick compare with the voice prints he had on file. Red Alert. The frigid fury of the words broke through the mech's normally emotionless tone.

"You cannot go alone." And that was definitely the Prime. No mech could ever mistake that voice for anyone else. Despite the deep rolling tones he sounded as exhausted as the medics recharging on the floor. "Reinforcements are en route, Red Alert. As soon as they're here—"

"Reinforcements are half a septorn out," Red Alert snarled, the loud sound carrying into the med bay proper. One of the junior medics startled halfway awake before exhaustion pulled her under once more. "No," Red Alert's voice was like a whip crack. "The longer you keep me here the less chance there is of finding him alive. Move or I will move you."

"I cannot allow a senior officer to board Megatron's flagship without any help."

Jazz flinched back. Red Alert wanted to board the _Nemesis_? _Alone_? If he was caught…Megatron hated Red Alert almost as much as he hated the Prime. After he let Soundwave rip his mind apart, he'd ship the Gygaxian off to Shockwave to be his newest lab rat.

Red Alert made a low sound and Jazz could almost see the Gygaxian lowering his horns, crouched and ready to charge. The Prime still sounded unfazed even though Jazz could feel Red Alert's anger through the door. "Charging off half-cocked can just as easily get Bluestreak killed, Red Alert. We must think this through."

Jazz stopped breathing. Ice water replaced the energon in his lines. Bluestreak? Bluestreak was on the _Nemesis_? The tiny sparkling with the squeaky voice and stutter who loved chasing butterflies was Megatron's prisoner? They couldn't wait. The Prime's restraint was admirable, but Bluestreak was not meant to be on the _Nemesis_ where brutality and viciousness made the rules. His body moved before his mind restarted. He snapped out of his horror when his battered knuckles rapped twice on the door.

The door opened a moment later to the Prime's surprised face. The Prime leaned against the doorway, his right leg more patch than alloy. Red Alert's ice blue optics narrowed in on Jazz and a wash of rage turned them a light shade of periwinkle. Even in fury Red Alert was cold. Jazz's throat worked, the razors in his voice receded enough words finally came out. "I'll go." His voice was hoarse and maybe too loud for the quiet bay, but the words came out and that was all that mattered.

A dark frown crossed the Prime's face but he didn't even have a chance to open his mouth before Red Alert said, "Let's go." He pushed past the Prime and out the door like a winter storm. Picking up two blankets from a stack neatly folded on an empty berth he unfolded one and covered a medic curled in a small ball. The other he stowed away in subspace.

"Red Alert," the Prime started. The Gygaxian swung around with optics flashing, horns lowered enough to be a threat. Pain colored the Prime's cobalt optics navy but whether that was from his leg or having one of his officers turn on him like a rabid cybercat Jazz couldn't tell.

"Had you let me do my job, we wouldn't be having the conversation," he snapped. His voice was a growl that pulled one of the medics out of recharge. Bleary optics squinted as he tried to focus on what was happening. The Prime and Red Alert didn't notice their audience and stared at each other for several seconds until the Prime bowed his head and his shoulders fell. Red Alert turned back around and didn't look at Jazz when he snapped, "Move."

Jazz didn't take offense at the tone. Something in his spark was beginning to claw its way to the surface again. He could help. He knew all the codes to the _Nemesis_ , knew all the unused halls, knew where security mechs like to check, and where other 'Cons liked to do under the table deals. He could get to Bluestreak. He could find the sparkling. He could help. The ruthless realist part of his processor curbed his desperate enthusiasm. If he was too knowledgeable Red Alert would outright shoot him for being the traitor and Bluestreak would stay on the _Nemesis_.

Neither of them spoke until the hatch to the tiny ship was closed and the ship was powering up for departure. Red Alert's ice cold optics pinned Jazz to the copilot seat. "Which cell is he most likely to be in?" Jazz blinked at the directness of the question.

It wasn't as if Red Alert was looking for a brainstorming buddy, but that he thought…

Jazz knew…

exactly where…

Systems stalling for a brief second his initial reaction was to try and deflect Red Alert's suspicion. In a quick sharp movement he had a Gygaxian straddling his lap and a knife pressed against his throat. "I do not have the patience for your continued charade. Tell me where he is or I will _take_ the information." Cold, toneless, and utterly deadly Red Alert stared Jazz down. His horns gleamed in the overhead lights, all traces of the energon that had painted them so thoroughly washed away. New cuts had been added to his face but none as deep as the one on the side that turned his glower into something straight from the Pit.

The trembling started in his legs again and worked its way up until he could feel his neck stuttering against the sharp bite of the blade. "You knew," Jazz whispered, his strotta moving against the blade. It was sharp enough it bit straight through his exoform and a bead of energon rolled down his neck. Nothing about Red Alert moved. His cold optics bore straight into Jazz's and flared with fury that turned them to that strangely pretty periwinkle. "Lower cells, port side. Hard to get to from the hangar and Ravage likes it down there. He hunts the rodents that get onboard," Jazz said softly, each word drawing out another drop of energon. "I know all the codes." He didn't move until Red Alert got off him and put the knife away.

The Gygaxian was a skilled pilot. He had them out of the hangar and into the vacuum of space in breems. "You knew," Jazz said again, optics forward and his tanks churning. He didn't wipe away the energon still sliding down his neck. That cold blast of fury washed over him again and his arms trembled.

Red Alert growled, optics like chips of ice and amethyst. "Prime was convinced you showed enough Autobot qualities you could be reformed." The snarl in his voice kept Jazz quiet even though the statement made him jump. The _Prime_ thought he could change. The razors returned and he stared at the console.

"And so I was barred from killing you like we should have," he added something else in Gygaxian that Jazz knew was not at all flattering but whether it was aimed at him or the Prime he didn't know and didn't ask.

Enough Autobot qualities to be reformed. Part of him rebelled against the very idea that he could be as weak sparked as an Autobot. But he was in a ship on his way to take back a sparkling from Megatron. And he would laugh at anyone who thought Red Alert was weak sparked. Or Prowl. Beta who had walked through a massacred colony searching for life even when she had to have known there wouldn't be any. Ratchet was anything but weak.

Jazz looked out the window. "Do I?" he whispered. "Do I…do I have the qualities to be an Autobot?"

"No." Red Alert's voice was final and Jazz flinched away from it. "The Prime is often blinded by his own optimism. Certainly Soundwave cultivated you separate from the rest of the Decepticon ranks because he knew that would appeal to the Prime and our more prudent judgement would be overruled." The words hit him like blows from Red Alert's Warhammer. By the end of the short speech it was hard for him to breathe. Hugging himself he curled up in his chair and trembled.

They stayed in brittle silence for joors until the dark shape of the _Nemesis_ came up on the scanners. The largest ship ever built, it was sleek black lines with weapon ports always glowing a muted red. Any twitchy or over observant mech that caught their ship on sweeps could annihilate them without having to wait for the weapons to warm up. He usually felt a bit of fear and awe when he saw the _Nemesis_ , now all he could think of was how cold the halls were. Bluestreak would be freezing. He doubted anyone had thought to wrap the mechling up. What if he was hurt? His tanks churned the closer they got.

"Port side, the third missile shoot is permanently out of commission," he said softly. Swindle had orchestrated that a centicycle ago so it would be easier for him to meet with his "clients" and it also made a nice boarding entrance for anyone suicidal enough to climb down a missile shoot. "Is…will Fireflight be all right?" he asked as Red Alert's sharp optics scanned the side of the ship. He took his attention off the _Nemesis_ long enough to stare at Jazz until he ducked his head. The moment crystallized what Jazz was on this particular mission. He wasn't a partner. He was a source of information that went two ways. Any questions he asked, no matter how much his spark needed the answers, would be seen as an informant wanting a few extra scraps of information.

Red Alert put the ship in a tiny holding pattern just outside of the missile shoot. He didn't take any blasters with him, only a dark bladed sword Jazz had watched him spar with once. The memory of that beautiful bladed dance with Prowl made his spark ache worse. There had been something there in that moment that Jazz had almost been able to touch. The cold mech preparing to jump to the _Nemesis_ had thawed the tiniest bit.

Pushing the memory away Jazz focused on what they were about to do. No one knew Swindle's comings and goings so there was only a very, very small chance anyone would come investigate the decompression signal once the shoot was open. Once they were inside it would be a matter of avoiding cameras and the all-seeing optics of Soundwave and his symbionts.

"Get ready," Red Alert said snapping Jazz out of his planning. Jazz crouched and the second the door opened he launched himself at the warship. He tried not to think about the last time he'd done a risky ship jump. Unexpected, he remembered Morning Glory's laughter as she left the ship. What had she and Red Alert been talking about? Had the red mech laughed with her? Blinking the thoughts away he kicked his feet and arrowed himself toward the missile shoot.

Activating the magnets in his hands reminded him of how battered they were. Slamming into the side of the ship at full speed almost made him black out from the pain. Warmth leeching out of him every second he was in the vacuum he typed in the code he'd swiped from one of Swindle's clients and opened the shoot. Red Alert shot down feet first, a black bladed dagger in his hand. Jazz followed and closed the hatch and pushed himself down. No matter how cold the halls, it had to be warmer than the vacuum.

Almost opening his mouth to ask the sudden question on his mind he risked a short ping to Red Alert. The red mech surveyed the hallway and didn't look at him and didn't allow for communication. "How are you gonna get Blue back to the ship?" Jazz whispered as soft as he could. A flash of cold sapphire blue was his only answer and Jazz fought the urge to punch him or scream at him.

"Where?" was the only word Red Alert spoke. It was the softest Jazz had ever heard him but the tone was sharp enough to draw energon. Taking point Jazz zigzagged down the hall keeping to the cameras' blind spots and an audio open for the near silent paws of Ravage. It was the soft click of his claws on the floor that gave him away, though Jazz had never told him that. He thought of those long claws tearing through Bumblebee and had to pause a moment before his shaking legs could hold him.

The lower halls were busier than they usually were. Jazz tried not to think of what that meant for a tiny sparkling. Hiding in shadows that would never exist on the _Ark_ Jazz and Red Alert watched another bruiser lumber past. Fresh welds on his arms and back said he'd either been at the colony or on the _Ark._ He'd thought Red Alert might want to take a piece out of the oblivious 'Con for all that had been lost in both those places but he didn't spare the mech a glance. Ice blue optics stared Jazz down until they were moving again and Jazz felt the only mech Red Alert would spare the wrath of vengeance on was him.

They reached the detention block and heard voices carrying down the hall. Loud, most likely overcharged, and jeering. The sound was a shock in the silence they'd been moving in. "Come here, you lil' thing, lemme look at ya'," a femme yelled. Red Alert's black bladed sword was unsheathed in preternatural silence.

They followed the sound down a long hall and around a corner and found a group pressed up against a cell door tapping on the metal and yelling. Like he had been in that sparring session with Prowl, Red Alert was a shadow as he moved. His blade didn't glitter in the light, didn't flash, and gave no warning. In quick succession the voices were silenced abruptly. The sounds of the bodies hitting the floor carried down the halls but no one came to investigate the odd sound.

Energon ran across the floor and sightless optics stared at the walls and ceiling. Jazz stepped gingerly around the bodies and watched Red Alert hack the door. The hack would definitely tip off Soundwave, but he didn't have the code to the detention cells so in this he couldn't help. Jazz felt the breems ticking by and watched the hall and the ceiling for Ravage's lithe form. Someone had to know by now the door was being hacked. As long as the alarms weren't going off though, Soundwave was opting to keep things quiet.

"Soundwave knows we're here at least," Jazz murmured. Red Alert didn't answer and Jazz lapsed back into silence so thick that when the door beeped he jumped back and almost tripped over one of the bodies.

"Bluestreak," Red Alert said. For the first time since that morning there was life and warmth in his voice. Jazz followed him through the door to see the sparkling, spark skipping. The small sparkling sat shivering staring wide opticked at the wall and not seeing anything. Streaks of dried energon covered his leg where it looked like something had bit him. Red Alert knelt next to him. Optics flashing over the wound and for a brief second flashing pale purple before he pulled the emotion back. "Bluestreak," his voice was still soft and suffused with warmth like Jazz had never heard before.

The sparkling didn't respond. Jazz's spark twisted so tight he thought it would crack. He slid to his knees watching the sparkling. "Bluestreak, we're going to see Prowl. Come with me, my love," Red Alert murmured. Bluestreak continued staring not even blinking. Jazz watched and hoped with every raw piece of his spark that he would hear the sparkling's little squeaky voice. Red Alert's gentle hands wrapped around him and Bluestreak and his tiny body went rigid and his optics paled to white. "Bluestreak," he whispered. "Come with me, Bluestreak. We're going to see Prowl. I'll keep the monsters from you."

The razors in Jazz's throat came back, this time dug in so deep it was hard to breathe. It felt like they went all the way down to his spark. Dragging in a breath he hugged himself and willed the small sparkling to smile, to laugh, to make some kind of noise.

Bluestreak trembled so hard a feather shook loose from his tiny wings. "Come with me, my spark. No more monsters." Red Alert pressed a gentle kiss to Bluestreak's head and lifted the sparkling fully into his arms. Using the blanket he'd taken from the med bay he bundled the sparkling tight. He stood still murmuring to the deathly quiet sparkling. Quietly unsheathing his sword once more he held Bluestreak tight against his chest where the sparkling could hear his spark.

Jazz stayed on his knees. He felt Red Alert's cold stare boring into him even as his soft voice murmured reassurances to Bluestreak. Jazz reached for his holster and slid the weapon out. "I left one round," he said in a voice rough as it squeezed past the razors. He stared at the same wall Bluestreak had.

His audios picked up on Red Alert's near silent exit.

He put the blaster against his temple.

"No more monsters."

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** No lie, I feel like George R. R. Martin right now. Also, song for this chapter was "Anthem of the Angels" also by Breaking Benjamin.

This was an adventure to write! Thanks for coming along, even though you probably regret it now. Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews and for everyone who favorited and followed!

See you next time! I'll leave tissues by the door.


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